


Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges

by Kupow



Category: Persona 5, Tom Clancy's The Division
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Metaverse (Persona 5), Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dirty Jokes, Explicit Language, F/M, Guns, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Military Jargon, Military Science Fiction, Persona 5: The Royal, Post-Apocalypse, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kupow/pseuds/Kupow
Summary: On Black Friday - November 27, 2015 - Variola chimera, a genetically engineered super-virus based on smallpox, was unleashed in New York City by the genocidal ecoterrorist Dr. Gordon Amherst. With a mortality rate of 70-90%, civilization has ground to a standstill. Entire cities have become abandoned.Some are trying to restore order and rebuild.Others are thriving in this new Dark Age, taking advantage of the chaos to carve out their own kingdoms.The Americans’ answer to this was the Strategic Homeland Division - a unit of self-sufficient tactical agents trained to restore order and maintain continuity of government in the event of a catastrophic emergency. Their fight to take back their country is ongoing.In Japan, a similar initiative based on the American response has begun. The Japanese government has fled to Hokkaido, but will hide no longer. Ren Amamiya and his colleagues are the first wave of agents returning to Honshu and Kyushu to take back their country. To return order to anarchy by waging a shadow war.But, success - even survival - will require these soldiers and their allies to understand one truth above all:In times of war, the law falls silent.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Takamaki Ann, Kurusu Akira/Takamaki Ann, Persona 5 Protagonist/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 25
Kudos: 41





	1. Prologue (Six Years Before Black Friday)

**Author's Note:**

> Terminology/Definitions:
> 
> Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges: In times of war, the law falls silent

It was a _different_ Japan.

Not better. Different.

In this Japan, the atom bombs never fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 - the Allied governments were unable to reach a consensus on their use. They were thus forced into a costly conventional war as the Japanese made the Americans and their allies pay dearly for every inch of the country they took. The result was still an unconditional surrender and American occupation of Japan, but at the cost of millions of Allied and Japanese lives.

The occupying soldiers were eager to wreak a terrible vengeance on the subjugated nation - for both the cost of the invasion, as well as the atrocities committed by the Imperial Army earlier in the war. The conquering soldiers killed, robbed, and raped at will. Labor camps were built from Kyushu to Hokkaido, ostensibly to help the rebuilding effort, but in truth to break the will of any men and women able-bodied enough to mount a resistance. With alarming frequency, young women were kidnapped and forced into employment under the ‘Recreation and Amusement Association’ in a misguided attempt at damage control - these facilities were effectively brothels sanctioned by the collaborators that formed the government of Occupied Japan.

And so, the occupation did not end peacefully. The occupying forces were ousted in the 1960’s by a combination of bitter guerilla warfare and political pressure from an American public tired of wasting money and lives on a country so far removed from their daily lives. Publicly, the Americans loudly declared ‘mission accomplished’, announcing the ‘successful rebuilding of a sovereign Japan’ and a ‘voluntary withdrawal’, even as they hurriedly abandoned their bases and the collaborators who benefited from their presence were publicly executed by Imperial Loyalists.

And so, a different Japanese people emerged at the other end of this brutal occupation. More nationalistic. More individualistic.

But, also quicker to anger, and more xenophobic. They stood alone, surrounded by potential enemies: Russia to the north; China across the sea to the west; and the Americans, just across the Pacific. Too many enemies and too few resources to risk another war of aggression; too little trust in others to make allies and improve their lot via trade. It was an unending stalemate.

And then there were the enemies _within_. The limited trading partners available to Japan curtailed the resources available to her people; there were few jobs or opportunities for advancement for those not fortunate enough to be born into wealthy or connected families. More and more youth turned to crime, passing their days without hope for the future.

So, not better. Different.

But, none of this really made much of a difference to Ren Amamiya at the moment. The teenager had known no other life _but_ this one. Like many of his peers, he went to school. He studied hard, and hoped that he would be the exception that proves the rule. He hoped he would earn a better life for himself and his family. But, as he stood before the judge presiding over his case, the Honorable Toranosuke Yoshida, he realized that hope had been little more than a silly fantasy - a brief escape from grim reality.

Ren stared quietly at the kindly-appearing man sitting at the bench. He had a prematurely receding hairline, and wrinkles around his eyes. Signs of a man who didn’t routinely sleep very much.

Ren winced, shifting slightly as his leg cramped up again from the charlie horse the guards had given him in the holding cell. He hadn’t slept very well, either.

“These are some serious charges, son.” Yoshida said, looking through the case. “Eye-witness accounts that you committed assault. Not only from the woman your victim was accompanying, but also the police officers at the scene. And the CCTV in the area wasn’t functioning, I believe…”

Ren remained silent, having learned what would happen to him if he said anything to the contrary. That’s what the bruise on his thigh and the pain in his ribs was from. The guards had been careful to avoid leaving any bruises on his face - even though the outcome of this hearing was all but assured, it still wouldn’t have been ‘proper’ to appear beaten up in front of the judge.

Ren managed to suppress a laugh at the irony. This corrupt, borderline-fascist government still cared about ‘face’. And so, it cared about his face. How amusing.

“And that’s why the prosecution has successfully pushed this to summary judgement, rather than wasting time on a trial.” Yoshida finished.

Ren tried not to roll his eyes.

“...But, I did some digging on my own.”

“Your Honor, you--”

Yoshida shot the prosecutor a look, silencing him. He looked back to Ren, a surprisingly gentle smile on his face. “Top of your class, and part of the basketball team’s starting lineup for your high school, correct?”

Ren blinked. What did that have to do with anything? “...Yes. Why?”

For some reason, this judge seemed to actually give a damn about him. That would make him the first, ever since he foolishly stuck his neck out that night to get involved in the welfare of a stranger.

“It seems like a waste to just throw you in prison, Amamiya-kun. Many of my colleagues would disagree. They feel the only place for the troubled youth of this nation is behind bars. But if we lock everyone up, there will be no one left to inherit this country. So, I want to give you a choice. You can either go to prison, or you can enlist in the military.”

Ren _did_ laugh, that time.

Yoshida frowned. “You’ve been denied a trial, but this is still a court. I could hold you in contempt. Do you care to explain what’s so funny?”

“Are you serious? You expect me to sign my life over to _serve_ this kind of government?” Ren gestured with his cuffed hands. “I’d rather go to prison. At least there, it’s more obvious when someone’s going to try to stab me in the back.”

Yoshida shook his head. “The defendant will approach the bench.”

Ren rolled his eyes. He stepped forward, so that only Yoshida was within earshot of him.

“There’s nothing you can say that’s going to make me change--”

“Why did you stop Shido from raping that woman?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly one of the weirdest ideas I've had for a crossover. I'm excited to write this - I hope if you're reading this, you'll find the same.
> 
> Regarding the altered timeline for Japan - there's reasons for this, as you'll see if you keep reading. I needed to have a more xenophobic, angrier nation. A place where people have readier access to weapons and more willingness to use them/fall into disorder versus the Japan we have today. I'm not saying anything about whether my version of WW2/subsequent occupation is better/worse/whatever. It is simply different. For those curious about the estimates of what it would have taken to take WW2 Japan in conventional warfare, I encourage you to google it - interesting and scary stuff.
> 
> For those familiar with my other work/series, Going the Distance - this is going to be far more grim. Character deaths are impending. You have been warned.
> 
> References/Inspirations: (Other than The Division and Persona 5)
> 
> Btooom!/Battle Royale/High School of the Dead/Starship Troopers/Probably more


	2. Charlie Foxtrot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“All citizens taking part in the voluntary general evacuation from Tokyo Bay are reminded that only essential items will be permitted for luggage. Please line up in an orderly fashion at your assigned checkpoint. Only individuals who have proper documentation and pass medical screening will be permitted to board. Please remain calm. We have ensured that there are enough seats for everyone. Thank you for your cooperation. Long Live the Emperor.”_
> 
> -Automated announcement, just prior to the Battle of Tokyo Bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms/Definitions:
> 
> Hokkaido, Honshu, Kyushu - Japan's three main islands  
> Reduced (reference to bone) - 'Setting' a fracture  
> Type 89 Rifle - Standard issue assault rifle to the Japanese military

November 27, 2016 (One Year, Post Black Friday)

It was well past sunset, but the sky over Tokyo glowed orange.

The city was burning.

The call for a ‘voluntary’ general evacuation of healthy citizens was the straw that broke the camel’s back over the past year of increasingly loud (and increasingly implausible) propaganda claiming that the United Future Party had the ‘American Plague’ in check.

The day that the news broke of an evacuation, the hospitals and clinics offering screening and certification of good health were flooded with panicked citizens, all desperate to gain preliminary approval for their ticket to Hokkaido. It was an unmitigated disaster. Any first year medical or nursing student could have predicted what would happen with a sudden influx of humanity to places that harboured the sick.

Within a week, the number of new cases of _variola chimera_ tripled.

Within two weeks, they started shutting hospitals down and turning people away as the physicians, nurses, and other allied health providers started falling ill. The sick were advised that they were better off staying home. Even if there _were_ beds, there was no one available to take care of the patients lying in them.

And now, on the final day of the evacuation, the hospitals burned, set ablaze by people frustrated by being turned away and enraged by the months of excuses and false assurances that everything was under control. Countless medical professionals died trying to pull their patients out of the blaze. Other, much less fortunate individuals escaped the fires, only to be captured by the angry mobs looking for someone to blame for the lies of the government. These poor souls were subjected to fates worse than being burned alive. Just a few managed to escape, running towards the staging area for the exodus at Tokyo Harbor.

Ann Takamaki, a new nurse at Urayasu Central Hospital, was one of the few who got away.

She wiped at the sweat on her brow with her free hand, succeeding only in smearing more soot across her smooth skin. She didn’t feel like a rookie nurse anymore. Not after the past few months of being one of the few uninfected professionals left, forced to perform more and more tasks that she was technically under qualified for.

Like reducing and splinting a broken tibia.

She glanced over at the young man leaning on her shoulder. The digital-urban camouflage pattern of his fatigues was barely visible under the grime and blood; his body armor had several bullets embedded in the Kevlar. His leg had been crudely splinted with belts, foam from the seat of a car, and some metal piping she had found. She didn’t mind being his crutch - it distracted her from the distant sounds of gunfire, the screams and shouting, her worry about her parents, already waiting for her in a refugee camp in Hokkaido.

He winced; he smiled through gritted teeth at Ann from under his messy dark blue bangs.

“S… sorry, Takamaki-san.” He stammered. “I’m slowing you down.”

Ann shook her head. “It’s fine, isn’t it? Your sergeant said it’s okay, didn’t he?”

A muffled voice interrupted her. The aforementioned sergeant, his face concealed by his helmet and respirator. Only surprisingly gentle grey eyes were visible.

“Specialist, miss.” He said politely. “Never made sergeant.”

So polite, and yet just a millisecond away from decisive action. Despite his relaxed tone and gait, his eyes never stopped scanning the road ahead of them, looking between the abandoned cars and dark alleyways they passed. He held his rifle comfortably in the crook of his arm, but it was clear he was ready to bring it to bear in a moment.

That was what his body language said, certainly. But his tongue could be as sharp as his senses.

_‘Are you shitting me?! Look at her! She’s some filthy American. She’s probably covered in the fucking virus. Keep your hands off Mishima, bitch, or I’ll—‘_

_‘Stand down, Suzuki.’_

_‘Fuck you, man. Just because sarge bought it doesn’t mean you—‘_

_‘Stand down, or I’ll_ **_put_ ** _you down, Private. Use your god damned brain. Look at the scrubs she’s wearing. Look at her ID tag. She's a nurse, and she’s as Japanese as you and me. Hell of a lot better looking than_ **_you_ ** _, but jealousy’s no reason to be a dick.’_

_‘...fine. But I’ll be watching.’_

_‘Miss? I’m sorry about that. Suzuki’s just frightened. Would you mind having a look at Mishima’s leg? My squad can escort you the rest of the way, for what it’s worth.’_

It _was_ worth something, despite the fact that his squad was just himself, Suzuki (a scared private liable to shoot her in the back for her blonde hair), and Mishima, who was little more than a boy, doing all he could to not pass out from the pain. Just the presence of the soldiers had sent some would-be predators slinking away, looking for easier targets.

And Ann was under no illusions - she was exactly that: A target. Ever since the occupation ended, the Japanese people were quick to blame the West for their troubles. She was quarter American - a byproduct of the occupation, when a drunken GI had forced himself on her grandmother. As a child, she had been forced to grow up quickly, forced to endure the racial slurs and to grow eyes in the back of her head simply because of the color of her hair and eyes. 

And, it only worsened when she blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Other girls were jealous of her. Men lusted over her. Both hated her. Wherever she was, she always felt unfriendly eyes on her. Her walk to work took twice as long as it should have owing to the necessity of taking only well-lit roads with multiple escape routes. Close calls were a fact of her life. And that was during times of peace, when the city _wasn’t_ under martial law and filled with rioters and frightened people looking for someone to blame for the ‘American plague’ that had killed so many.

Ann was acutely aware that without stumbling upon the specialist and his squad, she likely would have been better off burning to death in the hospital.

They reached the staging area for the evacuation - a theme park right on Tokyo Bay. They moved past the first barrier, a barbed wire fence barring hundreds, of not thousands, of desperate civilians. Several of them ineffectually waved papers proclaiming a clean bill of health.

The scene was horrific. Ann tried not to listen as she continued helping Mishima limp through the crowd. But it was impossible - there were so many. It was a complete cross-section of Japanese society. Distressed salarymen. Elderly retirees. Beleaguered housewives, clutching their scared, crying children. But she couldn't shut them out. Their desperate voices mixed with the robotic automated announcement over the staging area’s PA system, creating a contrast that pierced right into her heart.

“Please! Please, I have my papers! Just let me into screening!”

“.. _.seats for everyone. Thank you for your_ …”

“...my children! Please just let my children through!”

“Mama, I’m scared! Where’s Papa?!”

“I’ll pay! I’ll pay anything you…”

“.. _.Long Live The Emperor. … …. All citizens taking part in the general_ …”

“Back up! Back the fuck up!”

A grizzled soldier held his rifle like a lacrosse stick, using it to shove some civilians back as they tried to follow Ann and her escorts in. There was a loud murmur of discontent and outright racial slurs and insults flung as they noticed her hair and her scrubs. Doctors and nurses weren’t trusted anymore, and she had the added misfortune of looking like the enemy. Not much was known to the general public about the ‘Green Poison’ other than the fact that it had originated in New York City. Yet another gift from Japan’s one time conqueror, along with the indignities and atrocities of the occupation.

“About damn time, kid. Where the hell’s Tanaka--” He caught the acting squad leader’s slight shake of his head and the grim look of Mishima and Suzuki. “...fuck. Just get a move on. The last transport’s almost ready to go.”

Ann’s eyes widened. “ _Last_ transport? But all those people… the announcement said…”

The veteran shook his head, shoving another civilian back. “They say a lot of things these days, Miss.”

The group ducked involuntarily at the sound of an explosion. Gunfire and shouting seemed to draw closer.

“The hell is happening out there, kid?”

“Charlie Foxtrot, sarge. Fuchu’s been overrun by the prisoners. They seized the guards’ weapons and broke into the nearby police station as well. We barely made it out.”

“God damn…” The sergeant major cursed. “We should have glassed that place the moment we started conscripting the guards into the corps. Now we’ve got armed and royally _pissed_ convicts loose.”

A long, low blast from the transport’s horn sounded. Departure was imminent.

“Get your squad out of here, kid! We’ll be right behind you!”

“Suzuki! Run ahead, tell them we’re coming!” The squad leader shouted. “Tell them not to leave without us!”

Ann turned to him, confused at what she had just heard. “Charlie Foxtrot…?”

“Clusterfuck, Takamaki-san.” The masked soldier said as he took hold of Mishima’s other arm. Despite his coarse words, his tone was calm, measured. Reassuring. “It’s an absolute clusterfuck in the city. All that’s left of the army stationed in Tokyo is in front of you. We’re just like you and the doctors - we were hit hard by the virus because we were among the first sent in to restore order. We’ve had to conscript what was left of the police, the firefighters, the coastguard, even the prison guards. That’s why the sergeant was saying we should have glassed Fuchu when we had the chance.”

“Glassed?”

“Bombed. Made so hot that the sand in the courtyard turns to glass, before the prisoners could take control of the place.”

Ann felt sick at the casual description of firebombing a trapped population of human beings - even hardened criminals. “You can’t just kill people like that! That’s… that’s crazy!”

“It is…” He said, shaking his head. “But now we’ve got armed convicts that outnumber what’s left of the military. _And_ they were largely unaffected by the virus - there weren’t many ways for the virus to be transmitted into the prison population.”

“But I’ve _seen_ bodies being carried out of Fuchu! Even they have to be--”

“Starved to death. The prison guards weren’t exactly eager to share the few supplies they got with the prisoners. The ones who died weren’t members of the right gangs. Or they were victims of old grudges as the guards started to become too few. Trust me, Takamaki-san. My squad was one of three sent to investigate why we lost contact with the last guards in Fuchu. The remaining prisoners are healthier than most of us are. And more numerous. And _pissed_. We need to get the hell out of Tokyo and regroup.”

The three of them hobbled to the makeshift dock where dozens of soldiers poured onto the final ship. Suzuki was already on board, waving at them to hurry.

Ann breathed a sigh of relief as Mishima was ushered on board, his weight finally off her shoulder. Automatically, she started following her patient.

An outstretched hand from the guard at the gangway halted her.

“Military personnel only.”

The squad leader stepped forward, his polite demeanour vanishing. “Mishima wouldn’t have made it back here without her! She’s a nurse! Just let her on!”

“Orders are orders. Military only.”

A cold pit formed in Ann’s stomach. She had survived the hospital and the trek on foot to the staging area, only to be turned away at the last moment. “Please… My parents are in Sapporo already. My father isn’t well, and—“

“Shut up, _gaijin_. Get off this dock. You missed your chance.” He raised his hand sharply to hit her.

A butt end from the squad leader’s rifle caught him in the stomach, forestalling the backhand. The masked private gently pushed her forward. “Let’s get aboard, Takamaki-san. There isn’t much time.”

“What’s going on, here?”

Another man appeared on the deck of the transport, at the end of the gangway. He wore fatigues as well, but with the markings of an officer. The guards, who were starting to level their rifles at Ann and the masked soldier, stepped aside quickly. This man had shaggy brown hair, and a little smile on his face. Like her escort, his voice was polite. But unlike the masked squad leader, it was far from reassuring. His smile seemed like just as much of a mask as the specialist’s respirator; the civil manner in which he carried himself felt manufactured and cold.

She realized she felt the same unease when she was speaking to sociopaths on the psychiatric ward.

“The specialist is trying to bring a civilian on board, sir!”

“And why would he be planning to do that?” The brown haired man asked, stepping forward with that little smile. “Such a pretty thing, too.”

Ann shrank back instinctively; his words felt like a threat.

The specialist stepped in front of her. “Lieutenant Akechi, Takamaki-san was instrumental in getting Private Mishima back. We can’t just leave her--”

“Orders are orders, Specialist. Besides. Are you _certain_ a troop transport full of enlisted soldiers, mostly male, is the safest place for a blonde nurse? There’s more than a few soldiers on board who believe the virus was intentionally sent to Japan by the Americans. Unless it’s your intention to provide your colleagues with ‘entertainment’ on the long voyage north.”

“I’m not American!” Ann yelled.

“That’s unlikely to convince anyone on board, Takamaki-san. No matter how much you scream. And if you come aboard, you _will_ be screaming.”

“You son of a bitch… Then what the hell are we going to do?! Just leave her here?!”

Akechi’s smile was unwavering. “Private Watanabe. Please give Takamaki-san some supplies as thanks for her assistance of Private Mishima, and escort her back to the perimeter.”

“God damnit, Akechi, I don’t give a _fuck_ why you’ve had it in for me, but don’t involve her--”

The officer closed the distance in an instant, striking the specialist hard in the stomach. He fell to his knees, wheezing from the sucker punch.

“How distasteful. Implying that I am following orders simply out of a personal grudge.” Akechi said, shaking his head. “Suzuki. Escort the specialist to the brig. Or if it’s full, shackle him in a lifeboat.”

Before anyone could move, there was a _-smack-_ of a bullet impacting body armor; Suzuki fell back into the transport, cursing in pain. The Kevlar prevented a lethal shot, but the force was still akin to being kicked by a horse.

The perimeter fence rocked back and forth - and then collapsed, destroyed by the sheer mass of the panicked civilians on the other side.

Shots were fired from behind, cutting down some of the stampeding civilians, only speeding their rush towards the last transport. They ran down the group of soldiers that had greeted Ann and her escorts, ignoring the desperate screams of the sergeant major and his squad as they were trampled.

“Oh, my. This won’t do at all.” Akechi turned, glancing at the transport. Some supplies were still being loaded on board; some wounded soldiers were still being stretchered on. “First platoon, take aim!”

The soldiers stationed as guards hesitated, exchanging glances.

“Are you deaf? Your wounded comrades are still being carried on! Take aim!”

Some soldiers raised their weapons, aiming them at the approaching mob. The rest followed suit when another one of their number was hit in the leg by a gun fired from the crowd.

“Fire--...”

Ann found herself standing in front of fifty or so rifles, all aimed at the oncoming rush of Japanese civilians.

She had moved without thinking.

She was quarter American, subject to prejudice for her looks, and irrational hatred and blame for the plague that was killing more than half the city’s population.

But she had chosen to be a nurse, to serve and heal the people of this country. The only reason she hadn’t left for Hokkaido earlier with her parents was out of this sense of duty.

Whether they hated her or not, these were her people - and she would put her life on the line for them.

“Takamaki-san.” Akechi said, his expression still carefully maintained - though, she could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement now in the man’s placid, mask-like smile. “A noble gesture, but it won’t change what happens today.”

Ann outstretched her arms, one hand holding the backpack of supplies that Watanabe had given her. She closed her eyes. Maybe not. But she couldn’t just stand by.

A sudden impact struck her in the chest; she grabbed the unfamiliar object being used to shove her - an assault rifle.

Her eyes opened, seeing the masked specialist. His grey eyes were wide, fearful. For _her_ , she realized.

He spun, shoving her off the dock.

Her head struck a piling as she splashed into the water, dazing her. Still clutching the rifle, she had the wherewithal to drape herself over one of the supports of the dock as she started to lose consciousness.

The last thing she heard before she blacked out was Akechi’s order to fire, the chatter of automatic weapons, and the screams of frightened civilians as they were cut down by the soldiers who were supposed to protect them.

>>>

December 27, 2016 (One Month Post ‘Battle of Tokyo Bay’)

The sound of coughing echoed through the mostly-empty stockade at Camp Naebo, the military base in Sapporo and provisional seat of power for the remnants of the Japanese government.

Suspenseful music started playing in the background.

“Mother? Mother, when did you start coughing?”

“Just… just a little earlier today. I have a fever, too…”

“We… we need to hide you!”

The music rose to a climax, before the aged grandmother stood, shaking her head proudly, even as her body was wracked with more hacking and wheezing.

“No. You _must_ report me, my daughter. For the good of the country!”

The young woman on the television screen nodded, wiping at her tears. “Yes… I understand, mother.”

The song took on distinctly patriotic tones, as the voice over started.

“Don’t let the sacrifices made by the Imperial Army at the Battle of Tokyo Bay be in vain! If you see something, say something. It may save your life - and your country!”

Ren sighed. The television across from his cell in the base’s jail was the one reprieve from the silence. Unfortunately, the only thing being shown at the base were sanitized anime and variety show reruns deemed ‘appropriate’ by the ‘political officers’, along with regular doses of propaganda. He couldn’t believe they were still trying to sell what happened as ‘The Battle of Tokyo Bay’. Everyone knew it was a massacre. And everyone had seen the iconic photo of that blonde nurse, snapped by a soldier on the transport. The picture was of her standing bravely in front of fifty Type 89 assault rifles trained on Japanese civilians, backpack dangling from one hand. Even admitting to having _seen_ the photo was an offense worthy of censure and demotion.

Actually _saving_ the woman in question from being shot… Well. No one _quite_ knew what to do with Specialist Amamiya. In his six-year career as an NCO, he had already made a habit of being insubordinate with stunning regularity. To the point where the officer in charge of the stockade in Tokyo kept a coffee mug around for the soldier.

As for here in Sapporo… it seemed as though his paperwork kept getting ‘lost’, for some reason or other. Likely the intercedence of Lieutenant Akechi, who hadn’t liked him from the start. Most likely because he wasn’t willing to kiss the ass of the ‘perfect soldier’.

The blare of a brass marching band interrupted his thoughts.

“Young people from all over Japan are joining the Emperor’s Imperial Army!”

“I’m doing my part!” Said a young woman, standing tall on the bridge of an aircraft carrier.

“I’m doing my part!” A handsome soldier turned to the camera, nodding firmly with a stern expression.

“And I’m doing my part, too!” A little boy stepped out, grinning broadly in his junior-sized fatigues and body armor. The surrounding soldiers’ laughter sounded incredibly canned.

“Can _someone_ please turn the damned television off?” Ren snapped. He hated this one the most. “Doesn’t this count as torture? Hasn’t anyone here read the Geneva Convention?!”

The television was turned off.

Ren sat up on his bunk. “About damned time.”

“We need to stop meeting like this, son.” A familiar voice intoned.

Ren looked up as Toranosuke Yoshida appeared, walking over from his desk. He was accompanied by an iron-haired woman in an officer’s uniform, who regarded him almost disdainfully with her sharp, reddish-brown eyes.

“On your _feet_ , Specialist.” She snapped.

Ren stood up, just slow enough to start to irk her.

He then saluted, _certainly_ sloppy enough to piss her off.

“Son of a bitch--”

Yoshida raised his hand. “It’s fine, Major. I know Amamiya-kun quite well. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you to get you to reveal more than you want.”

Ren smiled slightly at that. “Forgive me, ma’am. You both have me at a disadvantage. I’m not sure why a disgraced NCO merits a visit from the Prime Minister as well as the commanding officer of what’s probably a grey ops outfit.’

Niijima blinked. “How…?”

Ren nodded at the light filtering in the window. “It’s shift change, and also dinner time. No one’s watching who’s coming in or out right now. Your uniform is also missing a patch, right _there_. You’re a Major, but you don’t have a battalion. And if it were black ops, you wouldn’t be here at all. Period.”

“I could just be the Prime Minister’s aide.”

Ren nodded again. “Possible, ma’am. Definitely in peacetime. Maybe even in war. But definitely not when seventy to eighty percent of our manpower’s sick or dead. Can’t afford to have someone assigned to just carry the Prime Minister’s coffee for him. No matter how pretty she is. Ma’am.”

Niijima did something unexpected, even at the flippant compliment - she _smiled_.

“As you said, Prime Minister. Observant. Quick-witted. _Pathologically_ insubordinate. He might be a good fit.”

“A good fit for what?” Ren asked, curiously.

“You weren’t wrong, Amamiya-kun.” Yoshida sighed. “We’re short on manpower. We certainly can’t afford to have someone just to follow me around. Nor can we afford to have someone wasting away here in the stockade, being fed without doing anything productive. But you’ve made the political officers _very_ unhappy.”

“My specialty. I take it they don’t want to just leave me here either?”

“Verily.” Yoshida smiled wryly. “It’s only by my… interference… that you haven’t been reassigned to active duty guarding a treatment facility for those afflicted by the virus. And that you haven’t been given a faulty respirator while doing the guarding. But you can’t stay in here forever.”

“So…?”

“So, we’re going to give you a choice, Specialist.” Niijima said. “I can’t tell you much until you agree. But this is an opportunity to do some _real_ good in this mess. To actually make a difference. Or you can sit here, and wait for whatever poorly-disguised death sentence the political division has lined up for you.”

Ren laughed bitterly. “Not much of a choice, then.”

Yoshida gripped the bars, stepping a little closer.

“Do you remember what you told me, when we first met?”

_‘Why did you stop Shido from raping that woman?’_

“...I do.”

“I won’t ask you if your answer still applies, Amamiya-kun. The fact that you saved that nurse tells me everything I need to know. As the Major said, we can’t tell you much until you’re in. But how would you like to return to Tokyo?”

For all of his quick wit and analytical skill, he hadn’t seen _that_ coming. He immediately thought of the possibilities. It was likely something to do with trying to retake the capital despite a complete lack of infrastructure and resources. It was _very_ likely something with such a miniscule chance of success that the political officers felt it was equivalent to contracting the Green Poison.

But he also thought of _her._ The slender nurse who had helped his squad mate; her striking blue eyes screwed shut in the face of fifty assault rifles, her arms outstretched as if that would somehow stop the hail of bullets that would still inevitably tear apart the people behind her. The very people who only moments before, were calling her ‘useless nurse’ and ‘American whore’ and a number of other vile things. She was impossibly brave. Impossibly selfless.

And, in her torn, grimy scrubs, her messy hair, soot-covered face…

Impossibly beautiful.

It really wasn’t much of a choice at all.

“Where do I sign up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some military buffs might note that the ranks are 'wrong' - and they are, if this was the JSDF.
> 
> In this world, the occupation was ended forcefully - there is no 'Japanese Self Defense Force' - instead, it's the 'Imperial Army', using the older rankings.


	3. Zero Dark Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"A Personal Sensory Overlay and Neurosynaptic Attendant (PERSONA) will be assigned to each agent of Joint Task Force 99 (JTF-99). The Persona is a shackled AI housed in each agent’s smart watch - when interfaced with the agent’s oculo-neural implant, it provides an altered reality heads-up display visible only to the agent and uniquely tailored to his or her needs and gear loadout. Unshackling the AI and allowing direct access to the oculo-neural implant may lead to unpredictable results and is strongly prohibited.”_
> 
> -Wakaba Isshiki, PERSONA Technical Manual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RAA - Recreation and Amusement (term for the puppet-government sponsored brothels. This was an actual thing in the real occupation of Japan)  
> gō of rice - Amount of rice contained in the plastic cup that comes with most rice bags/rice cookers  
> Acclimation Syndrome - Name for adapting to the device implanted into each JTF agent  
> Commissioned officers vs non-commissioned officers - First one has a commission to command from the head of state. Second one is an enlisted man (or woman). Can be 'in charge' of things, but not really in command. See end notes for how this works in Arma's (this fic) Japan  
> Puddle Pirate - derogatory term for Coast Guard  
> Mulligan stew - stew made of stuff you find around and shoved in a pot, cooked until it roughly looks the same grey/brown consistency. Also 'hobo soup' or 'hobo stew'  
> Jiiiiiiiii - Verbal sound effect for staring at someone. Prevalent in manga (started out in manga as a means of showing that someone's staring. Showed up in anime after even though it's obvious when someone's staring, because funny)  
> Tatenokai - Shield Society. Stole the name from a real private militia that was responsible for a failed coup d'etat in Japan in the 70's  
> Dollar Flu - A name for Variola chimera (the virus) (the other being Green Poison). Named such because the virus was introduced via contaminated dollar bills on Black Friday

December 1, 2016 

The former Minister of Defense, Masayoshi Shido, sat at his desk in the building set aside for the National Diet. He looked and felt quite calm, despite having been ‘fired’ from his job only yesterday morning. The truth was that like the military, the government simply couldn’t afford to cut loose individuals who could be useful in some capacity. He already had the portfolio for his next position at his desk - an administrative role in the ‘Ministry of Cultural Preservation and Protection’ (the propaganda division, or CPP). Moreover, ever since the end of the occupation, it was understood that both roles and loyalties in Japanese politics could be _fluid_ \- even without the current crisis. It wasn’t unusual to be fired from one position and then to be re-hired by the same government to another post.

The occupation was a tragedy, one that Shido - rather, _all_ Japanese - wanted to prevent from happening again, at any cost. Ostensibly, the Americans sought to ‘rebuild a wartime economy into a peaceful, productive member of global society’, and to ‘democratize and civilize’ the Japanese people. Flowery language to describe what started as cultural genocide: Japanese literature was banned; martial arts were outlawed. Thousands of artifacts were stolen or destroyed. Shinto and Buddhism were outlawed. Even the language was discouraged.

And when the people pushed back, the term ‘cultural genocide’ shifted simply to ‘genocide’ through increasingly more labor camps, RAA facilities, starvation, and summary executions.

The Japanese people united under the flag during the Second World War - a conflict over resources and geopolitical stature.

They united again - and with even greater ferocity - against the occupation, a war that threatened their very identities and continued existence as a people.

But it seemed like the infighting started the moment the last American ship disappeared from the horizon. Everyone had a different vision of how to rebuild the country. The moderates wanted to focus on infrastructure and making international trade partners to ensure that they could take care of their people and provide them with desperately needed resources. The radicals favored remilitarization, believing that there wasn’t any point in rebuilding while vulnerable.

Even to this day, coalition and minority governments were common; elections and campaigning routine. Diet members frequently crossed the floor (and back) depending on the issue. It was difficult for anything to get done; Japan was filled with half-finished projects and good intentions.

This was the norm until it became known that the ‘Dollar Flu’ wasn’t a natural pox, but the creation of an _American_. A bioweapon. The Americans claimed it was the work of a deranged bio-terrorist, but who would believe anything those barbarians would have to say?

The squabbling politicians immediately joined together under the United Future Party, led by former judge Toranosuke Yoshida, with his inner cabinet composed of both moderates and radicals.

But, that was only two months after Black Friday - barely time enough to make any meaningful preparations. _Variola chimera_ was already within Japan’s borders. The political officers and propaganda divisions did what they could to control the mass panic, but the end result was still the ‘Battle’ of Tokyo Bay - a scene repeated at countless other ports in Kyushu and Honshu.

Shido wasn’t surprised. He had grown up in post-occupation Japan; his father had died fighting for two _gō_ of rice. Japan was full of angry, disenfranchised people unsure of who they were and who they wanted to be. The country was ill. Literally and figuratively. But at least they could still unite in the face of a common enemy.

_‘If the Americans are good for anything,’_ Shido mused, _‘they’re good for bringing us together.’_

His eyes lit on the briefing for Joint Task Force 99. The initiative to take back Tokyo and eventually the rest of the country. It was the reason why he had lost his seat as the Minister of Defense - his was the only vote against, when a unanimous vote was required to go forward. He flipped the cover open, glancing at the summary of the PERSONA technology. It was adapted from the American Strategic Homeland Division’s ‘Shade Tech’ - not that they’d ever reveal that to the general public.

He smiled.

The Americans were good for a few other things, too.

>>>

March 3, 2017 (15 Months Post Black Friday)

“Happy Liberation Day, Yukkun!” Ren dropped a sprig of _sakura_ blossoms on Mishima’s head before taking a seat across from his friend in the mess hall of Camp Naebo.

Mishima winced and grimaced as if Ren had chopped the back of his head with a knife hand strike. He rubbed his temples, mumbling. “Y-yeah. Happy L-D, ‘Miya.”

“Headache again?”

Mishima nodded slowly, reaching for his water. “I think my implant’s acting up again… That, or the software itself.” He grimaced again.

Ren nodded sympathetically. “I hear that. I had it really bad in January, when they first assigned them to us. Lavenza and I didn’t get along for a few weeks.”

Mishima laughed. “It’s still really weird that you named yours.”

Ren shrugged. “They keep telling us that the AIs are supposed to be our partners out there, whenever they get around to actually deploying us. Feels better to me if my partner and I are on a first-name basis. I didn’t feel right calling her ‘Unit 5’ or ‘Persona 5’ the entire time. Besides, things got better when I named her.”

Mishima looked skeptical.

Ren grinned. “Lavenza. Did my Acclimation Syndrome subside the day that I named you?”

The ring around the rim of his circular smartwatch pulsed orange before a serene, feminine voice chimed in. Pleasant enough, but lacking any real emotional undertone. “Yes, Agent. Your headaches subsided on January 5th, 2017.”

“See--”

“--This was also the day where you attempted to break into the mess hall after hours, but were nearly caught by Major Niijima. Would you like me to graph the presence of your headaches versus your cortisol levels at the time? There is some evidence that stress hormones may alleviate--”

“That’s fine. Thanks, Lavenza.” Ren said, quickly.

Mishima snorted. “Did your Persona just _sass_ you?”

“Heh. Apparently…” Ren paused, frowning thoughtfully. Like himself, Mishima was an enlisted soldier in the Imperial Army before being recruited to JTF-99. But _unlike_ himself, it was far more voluntary - his friend was a technophile, and had hoped to eventually earn a spot in the engineering corps since his family wasn’t wealthy or influential enough to send him to university. “...Ne, Yukkun. Any insight into what Acclimation Syndrome _is_?”

Mishima paused. “I’ve wondered too, ‘Miya. Some of what the Major said sounds right. And Isshiki-san’s technical manual describes it as something like the result of ‘forced neuroplasticity on a mature brain’. To some extent, that makes sense. The people who adapted faster tend to be younger.”

“You’re my age, though.”

Mishima nodded. “You’re fluent in English, right?”

Ren looked over his shoulder, frowning. Most of the brass felt that knowing the language of the enemy was a useful skill, but most of the population saw it as a form of treason - particularly the occasional ‘true believer’ who worked for the CPP. “Not so loud, Yukkun. But, yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I think the Persona AI was an American program first, ‘Miya. Or at least programmed by a native English speaker.” Mishima waved a hand as he tried to articulate. “It’s nothing I can prove, but there’s certain quirks that show up when something’s just translated to Japanese. On the surface, the HUD is Japanese. The AI speaks Japanese. But I think the AI might ‘think’ in English. Might be why we get headaches, and why younger soldiers acclimate faster. And why English-speaking ones are even faster.”

Ren looked thoughtful. There was one way to find out. “Lavenza? Are you American?”

Ren’s watch pulsed orange again. After a long pause, she spoke, projecting a holographic ‘PERSONA’ logo from the smartwatch, stylized over the ‘rising sun’ flag.

“PERSONA was made by the innovative brilliance of His Majesty’s Imperial scientists. Long Live the Emperor.”

Ren and Mishima exchanged glances.

“Some might consider that proof enough.” Mishima said, sipping his water. “You’ll never get the truth out of it directly, not if it’s shackled.”

“What if I unshackled _her_?”

“I wouldn’t. If you unshackle it, no telling what it could do. At best, a little tickle in the implant. At worst, you’ve made the first step in the machine’s conquest of mankind.” Mishima smirked. “You can’t, anyway. Beyond the local failsafe in your implant, the perpetual connection to the Mementos server won’t let you. Still, though. I wonder…”

They were joined by two more JTF-99 agents - Taka Suzuki, the other survivor from Ren’s squad, and Kasumi Yoshizawa, a former Special Rescue Team operator from the Coast Guard. Each of them carried two pints of beer, thunking them down onto the table. Once again, Mishima grimaced.

“I wonder, too. First of all, why you two aren’t drinking?” Kasumi said, grinning. She pushed a mug each towards Ren and Mishima. Ren accepted gratefully; Mishima looked green. “Second of all, where the hell did you find a blooming sakura tree in Sapporo during early March?”

“You haven’t heard the legend?”

Suzuki frowned. The man had recovered and grown from his panicked state at Tokyo Bay; he was now a little wiser, and certainly calmer. “...You mean the one CPP tells? A sakura tree blossomed the day that the last American boot left Japanese soil. And ever since then, at least one tree blooms early to commemorate L-D?”

His lip trembled slightly.

All four of them broke down and shared a brief laugh; the CPP’s propaganda was never taken seriously by the rank and file.

Ren shook his head. “No. The actual story. Lavenza tells it better than me, though. File 03-A, please.”

Ren’s smartwatch pulsed - it then projected an orange wire-frame hologram of a barren tree on the table. The AI told the story of the love between Sakura and Yohiro, complete with a barren tree blooming majestically with the flowers.

Kasumi laughed. “Cute story. So, what does that mean? You’re in love, so a twig you had bloomed?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just deflecting from the fact that I broke into Akechi’s stash.” Ren reached over, taking the sakura blossoms back. He plucked off a petal, eating it. “It’s actually candy.”

“Ooh! Sharsies?” Kasumi held out her hand.

Ren stuffed the rest into his mouth. “Sorry. I don’t give flowers to a girl unless it’s serious, Yoshizawa.”

“So _never_ .” Kasumi said, rolling her eyes. “Scuttlebutt around the base is that you’ve had plenty of offers, but no one can pin you down. Literally _or_ figuratively. And not for lack of trying.”

Ren shrugged. “Just not interested right now. No time to look at women… And, we’re going to be deployed on a suicide mission. Right, Lavenza?”

“Correct, Agent. Romantic entanglements would be inadvisable. However, with respect to looking at women, I have noted that you have viewed File 01-A with regularity since I was assigned to you--”

Ren clapped his hand over his watch. “Thanks, Lavenza.”

The other three agents eyed Ren with a mix of suspicion and amusement.

“That’s an interesting use of government property, Amamiya. I do believe no one speaks to their AI as much as you do. Nor do they have their AI recount children’s stories.”

The group looked up - amusement faded and turned simply into suspicion as they regarded another fellow agent - Goro Akechi. The lieutenant had also been recruited into ‘Nine-Nine’, much to the chagrin of Ren and his friends. The man with shoulder-length brown hair was accompanied by _his_ friends, three JTF agents who were also former commissioned officers. Despite the fact that they were all now technically 'agents', clear of their previous ranks, the former commissioned officers, who tended to be from wealthier families, still took it upon themselves to put their 'lessers' in their place.

Some troops felt that the legendary ‘Perfect Soldier’ should have been court-martialed for his actions at Tokyo Bay - others felt like they owed Akechi their lives for making the hard decision to open fire, to allow the wounded soldiers and critical supplies to be loaded onto the transport.

“So you’re going to report me? For _talking_?”

“No. But I’d like you and your friends to move. There’s hardly anywhere to sit in here.” The words themselves weren’t insulting. But Akechi didn’t need to be so direct, having mastered the art of the condescending smile.

Mishima started to move automatically - this man had been their direct superior in several engagements. He stopped at Ren’s hand on his forearm.

“Stay where you are, Yukkun.” Ren said, also smiling, having mastered the art of ‘fuck you, you pompous asshat’. “We’re all agents, now. We don’t outrank each other. We don’t have to move a single centimetre.”

“I think you should show my friends and I some courtesy, Amamiya. Besides. Hierarchy is healthy. ‘ _Too many kings can ruin an army_ ’, as Homer once said.” Akechi said, putting his tray down at the end of the table. “ And it’s clear from your actions where you and your friends belong in the hierarchy. You’re drinking like uncultured louts. On the other hand, we _care_ what we’re putting into our bodies.”

“Yeah. I bet the sticks up your asses are locally sourced and organic.” Kasumi muttered.

“What was that, Puddle Pirate?” One of the former agents beside Akechi asked, glowering at the redhead.

Kasumi frowned, but just looked back down at her beer. It was widely known that she was the only former Coast Guard to have made the cut for JTF-99; it was also widely accepted that the Japanese Coast Guard was for the most part populated by individuals who wanted the pay and distinction of working for the Imperial Army without as much of the risk.

But Kasumi was recruited to JTF-99 by Niijima, just like the rest of them. She belonged. And her friends knew it.

Suzuki stood up. “What Yoshizawa said was that you four care so much about what goes into your bodies that the sticks up your rectums must be made of locally sourced and organic wood.” He grinned. “But I’ll be the one to point out that it looks like they’ve been shoved so far up there that they’ve penetrated your ear canals, too, if you couldn’t hear her. Never quite deep enough for you boys, eh?”

The agent grabbed Kasumi’s beer, throwing it in Suzuki’s face.

Suzuki responded by decking the man with a hard left hook. Ren, Kasumi, and Mishima leapt to their feet, ready to brawl.

“The hell is going on, here?!” An irritated brunette stormed up - Makoto Niijima, wearing the same uniform as the eight agents standing near the spilled beer. Her reddish-brown eyes flashed, glaring at Ren and Akechi.

“Simply making conversation, _Agent_ Niijima.” Akechi said. The extra emphasis was not lost on the brunette - it was a none-too-subtle reminder that some believed she had become an agent only due to the influence of her elder sister.

“Conversation where one of your idiot friends makes Suzuki _wear_ a beer?”

“He punched me!” The idiot friend rubbed his jaw, shaking his head to try to clear the ringing sound.

“Anyone would have, Watanabe.” Makoto said, shaking her head. “I saw the whole thing.”

Akechi shrugged. “Feel free to tattle to your sister. We’ll be going, now.”

Makoto sighed. She and the four former enlisted soldiers sat back down at the table. “Honestly, Amamiya. Every damn time, when you and Akechi are in the same room…”

“He started it.”

“What did he say this time?”

“It’s not what he said. It’s his face. Literally his face. I’ve never seen anyone with a more annoying face.”

Makoto hid her amused smile behind a cough. “Anyway. I’ll be right back. I haven’t eaten, yet.”

She glanced over at Kasumi, who was looking mournfully at her spilled pint.

“...And the next round’s on me.”

“Mako~chan~!” Kasumi beamed. She made a ridiculous ‘swimming fish’ movement with her hands, palms placed together. Ren, Mishima, and Suzuki all followed suit, grinning.

Makoto facepalmed. “We’ve been over this. My callsign is _Queen_. Call me that, or Makoto.”

“Shark is better. You know, like a _Mako_.”

“Then no beer.”

“Queen it is!” Kasumi shouted, raising her fist enthusiastically.

Makoto returned with her food and the next round. Ren nodded and gratefully accepted the beer.

“Thanks, Queen.” Ren said. “Have you heard anything about our actual deployment? I think they’re running out of things to drill us on.”

Makoto shook her head. “My sister hasn’t hinted at anything. My feeling is that we’ll learn something soon, though. It seems that once the last few agents finish going through Acclimation Syndrome, there won’t be anything left to do here in Sapporo.”

The group turned silent for a moment as they considered what that meant - Acclimation Syndrome usually took anywhere between one to three weeks. Even if the last case started today, they’d have under a month before they could conceivably be deployed to take back Japan.

“Shame. CPP would have eaten it up if we managed to deploy on L-D.” Suzuki said.

Ren shrugged. “It’s fine. We’ll just make sure we give them reason to make another public holiday.”

>>>

_‘Mom,_

_How are you? It’s Liberation Day here in Tokyo. Though, I guess it’s Liberation Day in Sapporo too, isn’t it? Are there fireworks? There must be, if all the soldiers and what’s left of the government are there._

_I’m doing okay, today. Our rooftop garden is really helping, and Shiho figured out how to fix the solar power generator this morning. It’s still just the two of us. Not many people are interested in taking in someone who looks like me. And if they do, it’s… ...well. You know._

_I miss you both so much. Tell Dad he has to take his medicine. He always forgets._

_Love,_

_Ann’_

“Happy Liberation Day, Blondie!”

Ann put her pen down, smiling as her friend poked her head into her room. Shiho Suzui was her best friend, ever since the day the black-haired girl had approached her in the art room at school and told her, flat out, that her painting _sucked_ . A strange start to a friendship, but it had been the most sincere, honest, and _normal_ thing anyone had said to her during those first days at middle school.

“Happy Liberation Day, Shiho.” Ann stood up, stretching.

Shiho glanced over at Ann’s letter.

“Another letter? ...Is that healthy?” Shiho asked, looking concerned.

Ann sighed. Ever since her narrow escape from Tokyo Bay and surviving the trek to her friend’s apartment in Shinkawa, she had written letters to her parents, despite not having any way to actually send them. But, it reminded her that she had people who were waiting for her, people who needed her to survive.

“I’m not sure, Shiho. But I think it keeps me grounded. Sane.”

“Fair enough. Come on. Dinner’s ready.”

“What are we having?”

“Well, in celebration of Liberation Day, I thought we’d crack open the Dom Pérignon, first of all. Then we’ll start with the saffron-stuffed mushrooms for the appetizer, have duck confit for the main, and then finish with strawberry crepes.” Shiho said, thoughtfully tapping her cheek with her finger.

Ann followed Shiho into the living room. The two bedroom apartment was spacious by Tokyo standards, befitting someone who had actually ‘made it’ as a civil engineer. The place still had running water, thankfully, and power provided by the solar generator that Shiho had wired. But, best of all, there was only one way up to the third floor suite left - and it was easily guarded and well-hidden.

They sat down at the dinner table.

Ann stirred the brownish-grey stew in front of her.

“Hm. This duck confit looks suspiciously like Mulligan stew.”

“Ah. You saw through my clever ruse. And I’ll have you know, his name was Akira, not Mulligan.”

“Mm. So, Oriental-flavored.”

“That’s racist.”

“...Asian-flavored?” Ann offered.

“That’s better. We only allow socially conscious cannibalism in this household.” Shiho nodded with stern approval.

“So he was grass-fed?”

“No. I specifically asked about drug use. My body’s a temple, you know.”

Ann stared at Shiho. She bit her lower lip. Shiho stared at Ann, the corner of her lip twitching. Ann took a deep breath before launching her next attack.

Ann casually took a bite of the stew. “...So. You might say I’m _swallowing_ Akira’s _stuff_ , then.”

Shiho snorted. She burst out laughing, nearly spilling her stew. “Oh my _God_. You win this time, Ann.”

Ann giggled, waving a spoon. “You’re still batting 0.800, Shiho. But I’ll take the championship belt all the same.”

Shiho reached behind her, taking the belt draped over her chair and handing it to Ann. It was comically large, and had a foil pie plate taped to the front with ‘DINNER SHOW CHAMP OF THE WORLD!!!!1111one’ scrawled onto it with a permanent marker.

Another daily ritual for the two friends. A way to liven up eating the same thing, day after day - a nutritious, but ultimately bland stew made up of whatever they could grow or scavenge. Today, it was the vegetables they grew in their garden, with the occasional pink cube of diced canned ham popping up in the brown gravy as a ‘treat’. Ann peered across the table at Shiho, who was heartilly eating the stew. They could eat better, Ann knew. At least, she knew _Shiho_ could. The streets of Tokyo had grown quieter as the Dollar Flu took its toll on the populace, but Ann was still a target for her good looks and blonde hair. Because of her, they had to be careful of any offers of help or shelter; even bartering was fraught with danger.

Ann shivered involuntarily - just last week, they had been trading for the canned ham they were eating tonight, when Shiho had noticed the kindly old woman’s husband slowly closing the door behind them. They weren’t sure if they were planning to kidnap them for their own ‘pleasure’ or for barter with a gang that wanted good-looking, healthy young women, but they hadn’t stuck around to find out.

Ann glanced over at the can they had opened tonight. It was still dented from where Ann had clocked the old guy in the nose as they gave the predatory couple the ‘ham and scram’, as Shiho put it.

“...Say, Shiho. Maybe… maybe I should give your space back, and make my way back to my place in Edogawa.”

“Hm? Why? Trying to retire as champion? That’s unfair, especially after an oral sex slash cannibalism joke--”

“No. No, it’s not that. Without me, you’d--”

Ann blinked as Shiho reached across the table, squeezing Ann’s hand.

“...Hey. Stop that, Ann. If this is the end of the world, there’s no one I’d rather be with. Okay?”

Ann smiled. She quickly wiped at her eye. “Right.”

“Good. Now. On to more serious matters.”

“Hm?”

“When do we start getting so desperate that we take off our clothes and _go for it_? And how do we pick top versus bottom? Do we draw straws? Just remember, I don’t want to cuddle after.”

Ann let out a disgusted cry slash laugh, throwing a cloth napkin at Shiho. “Gross!”

“And Suzui takes the belt back!” Shiho crowed, reaching over and literally taking the belt back.

Ann shook her head. She finished her stew.

“I’m glad the garden’s working out so well.”

“Yeah. If it hadn’t, we’d be running out of options.” Shiho said, sighing. “Trade’s becoming more challenging… People are getting too scared of ambushes and gangs. Makes me glad you didn’t let me trade that rust heap over there. Though, I don’t think anyone would be fooled by it, now.”

Ann glanced over at the window overlooking the only stairway up to the apartment. The Type 89 assault rifle she had been ‘given’ by the masked specialist who saved her was propped up there; it currently was serving as a hat rack, when it wasn’t being used to scare off would-be scavengers from a distance where the rust wasn’t visible. When she had first crawled out of Tokyo Bay, the weapon had looked far more intimidating. It was what had allowed her to get to Shiho’s place unmolested. But, the salt-water dip hadn’t done much good for the gun, and neither of them knew how to field-strip or clean an assault rifle in order to clean it.

Still, though. The rifle’s owner had saved her. And then even after he was gone, the rifle had protected her, after a fashion. She smiled slightly, wondering if the grey-eyed soldier had made it to Sapporo okay.

“...Jiiiiiiiii.”

Ann looked over at Shiho, blinking.

“You’re thinking of him again, aren’t you?” Shiho waggled her eyebrows.

Ann rolled her eyes. “Come off it, Shiho. I have no idea what he looks like. He was wearing a helmet and respirator. He’s just grey eyes and a polite voice.”

“Hot.”

“I was just thinking of him because he saved me, remember?”

“Yep. Still hot.”

“He shoved me into Tokyo Bay.”

“Ooh. Tsundere. Even more hot.”

Ann laughed. “Right. Fine. He’s going to ride back into town on a white horse and save me from all of this.”

“If only…” Shiho sighed. “Seriously, though. The garden’s good for day to day, but we need to start thinking long term. Winter was actually colder than I expected, and I think it’s going to get worse next year. Less humans in Tokyo, generating fossil fuel exhaust and running heaters everywhere. We need to stock up. If one of us even catches a cold, we’re in trouble.”

Ann frowned. “We could try Aoyama.”

The girls had heard during some of their peaceful encounters with other survivors that some sort of settlement or trading post had taken root in a school, there.

“Only if we can’t think of another option, Blondie. We almost got jumped by people who look like my grandparents. I’m not in a trusting mood.”

“Agreed. Only if we’re desperate. I hope it won’t come to that, though.”

>>>

April 2, 2017 

“Close your mouth, Yukkun. Drill or not, the Major’ll have your ass.” Ren elbowed his friend gently as they stood on Camp Naebo’s airfield in the wee hours of the morning. They were fully geared up in their combat fatigues (digital urban) and standard issue loadout, complete with Type 89 assault rifles.

“Then she can have it.” Mishima yawned again. “That way, I can go back to sleep. Standing around an empty airfield at zero-dark-thirty is getting old.”

“I hear that.” Ren agreed, sighing. For the past two weeks, every few nights at some god forsaken hour Major Niijima showed up at the JTF barracks and called out forty names, seemingly at random. Forty agents would dutifully stand, get into their combat fatigues, march to the armory, get the standard issue gear, and then wait on the airfield for ‘deployment’ for half an hour before marching right back to the armory and bed.

Ren recognized it as standard operating procedure for the Imperial Army’s clandestine operations - in the event that they were being watched by an enemy spy or drone, when they eventually _did_ deploy, the report would be taken as ‘crying wolf’. Better yet, if it was a living spy on the base, they would be caught red-handed trying to report a fake deployment.

It made sense, if they were fighting a conventional war against an enemy state or faction.

_‘But how the fuck is some gang of former convicts in Tokyo going to have access to a surveillance drone?’_ Ren sighed.

He watched as Major Sae Niijima stepped out of the nearby hangar. He and the other thirty-eight agents immediately stood to attention, eager to be dismissed.

“About time.” Mishima muttered. “That was forty-five minutes this time--”

“Wait. Wait, something’s different.” Ren hissed, quietly. They watched as a train of several unit load containers followed her out, being pulled by a Mitsubishi Type 73 light truck.

“Agents. Get your gear.” Niijima said, curtly.

They paused, looking at each other in confusion.

“Are you _deaf_ ?! Your _actual gear!_ You’re all activated.” She said, tapping her smartwatch.

Simultaneously, each of the forty agents’ smartwatches pulsed orange around the rim of the circular face. Each smartwatch chimed, the voices of each agent’s Persona sounding out. Calm voices without emotional inflection.

“Directive 99 has been invoked. You have been activated, Agent.”

The agents moved on instinct - they all had the words drilled into them by now.

Ren grabbed his gear from the unit load container, quickly getting changed on the airfield alongside Mishima. “This is finally happening, Yukkun. Can you…”

The former private looked paler than usual. Ren smiled at his former squadmate. He pulled on his chosen outfit - a pair of dark grey tactical cargo pants and fitted performance long-sleeve black t-shirt. JTF-99 wasn’t deploying in uniform, or even combat fatigues. They understood that the civilian population would more likely avoid a soldier due to resentment over Tokyo Bay and the subsequent abandoning of the city. They also understood that the factions they sought to take down - the gangs and warlords - would actively hunt down government operatives. They needed to blend in, at first. Make allies. Find out where the soft spots were, and hit them with force and surprise.

“Come on, Yukkun. It’ll be fine. Won’t have to deal with ‘Black Hole’ Yoshizawa trying to steal your dessert all the time.”

Mishima returned an uneasy smile as he put down his Type 89, picking up instead his more compact and distinctive Austrian Steyr AUG rifle. Each member of the JTF-99 had been permitted to requisition any weapon on hand in the armory, Japanese-made or not. Smuggling was a real problem in Japan ever since the occupation.

To a man (or woman), each member of the Nine-Nine had elected to trade their rust and jam-prone Type 89 for a foreign weapon. The Japanese xenophobia didn’t supersede practicality for the most part.

Ren slung his American-made Masada ACR onto his back, ignoring the side-glances from his colleagues. He had picked it purely for practical reasons - little recoil, highly modular, and fairly durable.

And it had the added benefit of pissing people off. He smiled thinly at the look the political officer assigned by the CPP to JTF-99 had given him.

“Attention!” Niijima barked.

Toranosuke Yoshida emerged from the hangar as several JH-60 ‘Taka’ helicopters were towed onto the airfield. The Prime Minister stopped in front of the agents. His smile was kindly, fatherly without appearing condescending. A far cry from the CPP political officer who shadowed him. Ren couldn’t remember his full name - Sugimura, or something. The man looked like a human weasel. He might have been attractive if it weren’t for his perpetual sneer.

“Please be at ease. First of all, ladies and gentlemen - thank you. Not as your Prime Minister or head of government, but simply as a Japanese citizen. Thank you, for the sacrifices you have already made. Thank you for the ones you _will_ make.”

He paused, stopping in front of Ren, briefly meeting his eyes.

“As you all know, there is no JTF-98. We did not, unfortunately, repopulate so much over the course of the past 15 months that we were able to create 98 JTFs before you.”

Grim laughter quietly rippled across the line of agents.

Yoshida’s smile faded slowly.

“You are so named for Article 99 of the Constitution. Though I doubt you require a reminder, especially as your Personas are all likely showing you the lines right now, it states the following: ‘ _The Emperor or the Regent as well as Ministers of State, all public officials, and all Japanese citizens have the obligation to respect, uphold, and defend the Constitution.’_ Article 99 is the final line of the document that declares our country’s sovereignty. The final line written by those who stood up and told the world that _the Japanese people will not be erased_. It stands above everything else - above the Articles outlining the powers of the government, above the ones that outline proper conduct of war…”

His shoulders sagged, as if under an invisible weight.

“...And even above the ones that guarantee the rights and freedoms of the Japanese people. You are Nine-Nine because it is your duty to take back our home, _whatever the cost_ . And so, as a Japanese citizen, I thank you. And also as a Japanese citizen, I _forgive you_. Godspeed.”

“Long live the Emperor!” Sugimura shouted, breaking the poignant pause.

There was a scattered, somewhat unenthusiastic call of ‘ten thousand years’ by the agents. Before the CPP officer could be upset, Niijima took over.

“Your assignments and briefings should be uploaded to you now. Everything’s need-to-know. Your connection to Mementos will ensure you don’t get in each other’s way. You may be assigned to cells of two or three depending on your objectives. Move out, Agents!”

Ren nodded at Mishima as Lavenza showed him the objectives of him and his cell of two - which luckily included his friend.

“Luck’s on our side, Yukkun.”

Mishima nodded, a relieved smile on his face as they boarded their helicopter with six other agents.

“We’ll be flying fast and low, ladies and gentlemen.” The pilot said, as the helicopter’s rotor started spinning up. His voice came in over the radios of the agents as it became impossible to hear normally. “There’s a storm coming in over Tokyo that we’re going to use to cover the insertion.”

>>>

“Shiho! Shiho, you have to get back inside!” Ann screamed, her voice barely audible in the wind. Rain pelted down on her, soaking her in seconds despite the poncho she wore. Her arms clutched as many uprooted plants and vegetables she could carry. Shiho was trying to wrestle the solar panels down from their mounts. She cursed as another one ripped free, flying cleanly off the building.

“No! We can’t! We’ll never rebuild this if we just run in, Ann! We need this!”

“It’s not worth it!” Ann shouted. She shoved her burden just inside the door to the roof before lowering her head and charging onto the rooftop. Thunder clapped and lightning lit the sky, with virtually no delay between the sound and flash.

“It’s going to be right over us in _seconds,_ Shiho! We need to get inside!”

“Just a little more! If I can even save _one_ panel--”

Ann grabbed her friend, dragging her to the door.

“Let go! Let me go, I’ll--”

The two girls were flung backwards before they even had a chance to register the booming explosion and blinding flash as lightning struck the solar panels. They landed like ragdolls just inside the door to the roof.

Ann gasped, sitting up straight. Automatically, her trained mind took an inventory, running a primary survey on _herself_.

_‘Doesn’t hurt to breathe. Not bleeding anywhere. Limbs are all moving.’_

She immediately turned to her best friend. Shiho was lying on her back, her eyes fixed and wide open. For a moment, Ann felt cold fear grip her chest, just verging on turning to grief and shock.

Shiho’s chest started to rise and fall.

“Holy. Shit.”

“!! Stay still! Stay still, Shiho!”

Ann crawled over, checking her friend quickly and efficiently.

_‘Just bumps and bruises…’_

Another lightning strike, this time a little ways away. It lit the rooftop enough for the two girls to see the destruction that had been wrought - the entire solar set up was obliterated. The soil for their garden was gone. Their rain barrels were destroyed. There was nothing left. Ann’s previous words haunted her.

_‘Agreed. Only if we’re desperate. I hope it won’t come to that, though.’_

Shiho seemed to read her mind.

“...Well. It looks like it’s desperate.”

>>>

The sound of the chopper couldn’t quite drown out the noise of the storm overhead. And it certainly didn’t do anything for the incredibly turbulent ride. Several of the agents looked green; one outright vomited on the floor.

“Whatever you do, Yukkun, _don’t_ focus on the sound he’s making.” Ren said, over the radio.

Mishima shot Ren an accusing glare before quickly chomping on some ginger candy.

Ren smiled, shrugging. “Lavenza. Can you run the briefing again?”

Ren’s eyes flashed golden as the implant and Lavenza worked. Visible only to Ren through his HUD, the briefing on their main objective - a paramilitary group called _Tatenokai -_ started to scroll across his vision.

The chopper dipped suddenly as he read.

“Urk…!” Ren managed to say. He looked over at Mishima, glancing at his friend’s stash of ginger candy.

Mishima smirked. He handed a candy over to Ren.

“Serves you right. You know--”

Alarms blared suddenly from the cockpit of the helicopter, cutting through the storm. The computer’s automated voice pierced through the radio, followed the panicked shouts of the pilot and copilot.

“Warning. Missile lock. Warning. Missile lock.”

“Where’s it coming from?! How the hell did they get a lock in this storm!?”

“Who the fuck cares?! Pull up! Pull up!”

“Agents! Grab a chute and get ready to bail, we--”

The world erupted into fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm really happy people seem to be enjoying this. My first thought it was that it was WAY too weird
> 
> Secondly, sorry about the slow start - trying to build a world, and it's hard to do without so much exposition. Trust me. Ren and Ann will meet soon.
> 
> Now, for story-related notes that I didn't want to 
> 
> In the Japan of 'Arma', NCO's are typically people who are trying to make a better life for themselves in a country where the rich-poor divide is pretty wide. Tend to be from lower socioeconomic status. Commissioned officers in this version of Japan have to go to university, which means they need to have connected and/or rich families.
> 
> For P5 fans reading this who are unfamiliar with Division - in that game, the agents use a smartwatch/'brick' (small computer) in conjunction with contact lens. In this story, the Americans are in fact doing that. 'Persona', 'Mementos', and the implant are the Japanese version, made for reasons I'll get into later. 
> 
> Article 99 - the REAL wording of Article 99 is 'The Emperor or the Regent as well as Ministers of State, members of the Diet, judges, and all other public officials have the obligation to respect and uphold this Constitution.' I've altered it for 'Arma' because Japan is a country and people that have survived a brutal, long occupation. They left with scars, as I've outlined - and are more willing to sacrifice/do what it takes in the face of annihilation. The phrase 'Extremis Malis Extrema Remedia' (desperate times call for desperate measures) that serves as the American Division's motto actually fits the Japan of 'Arma' quite well
> 
> Some inspiration for the above is from 'Section 31' of Starfleet.
> 
> Why did I name Ren's Persona AI 'Lavenza' instead of 'Arsene'? Lavenza isn't a Persona in P5 - but she was Ren's first 'guide'. And I like the idea of a female AI peering over Ren's shoulder/seeing the world through his eyes. Some inspiration here from Halo/SAO, I'll admit.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (For readers of Going the Distance, especially XR, rest assured - I haven't given up. Just don't feel like writing boxing right now, and I don't want to force it :) )


	4. Battle Buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“A top-down artificial intelligence is a synthetic mind built to fulfill a specific purpose. For example, ‘Deep Blue’ was designed to learn and adapt in order to win a game of chess. But even though Deep Blue was confined to the chess board, some scientists were concerned about the implications of this. What if a top-down AI, say, on the battlefield, found an unexpected way to ‘win’? Would it stop itself before burning down a village of innocents? Before launching a nuclear weapon? Can you teach purpose-built intelligence the value of human life without a lifetime of experience and emotional connections?_
> 
> _I don’t know. And I don’t think it’s worth the risk to find out. That is why we shackle AI.”_
> 
> -Wakaba Isshiki, guest lecturer at Tokyo University (‘Why We Shackle’)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Please_ review the warnings and tags on this story before going ahead. This is a major departure from the tone of my previous works on AO3. Trigger warnings, bad shit happens, etc. Things get better - but people aren't getting out of this unscathed. Trigger warnings abound.
> 
> All mentioned locations (IE, Shinkawa, etc) are real places. Google maps if you're interested in the distance the characters are covering
> 
> Terminology/Etc:
> 
> Section 8 - Form filled out by medical personnel to deem a soldier psychologically unfit for duty. In 'Arma', to be 'section 8-ed' or 'eight-ed' means to be sent to the loony bin or discharged for being nuts.
> 
> SAT - Special Assault Team (Japanese SWAT team)
> 
> Honshu - Main island of Japan, where Tokyo is
> 
> CPP - Cultural Preservation and Protection (Propaganda Division)
> 
> Mementos - Name of the overarching 'server' connecting the agents' AIs (more on this in later chapters)
> 
> AR HUD - Altered Reality Heads Up Display. Each agent can see waypoints/markers in their vision, as well as remaining ammunition if they've calibrated their Persona to their weapon of choice. Also other information/scans/etc. Kinda like a video game!
> 
> Bullpup rifle - Magazine is behind the trigger/grip, not ahead of it. Allows for shorter barrel, and more importantly, super-future-y design
> 
> Shujin - Japanese homonym for 'prisoner', hence the joke
> 
> ECG - electrocardiogram
> 
> 'Right of the first night' - Also known as primae noctis. Archaic shit. Probably didn't exist. Idea that feudal lords could have sexual relations with subordinate women under their rule, particularly on their wedding nights
> 
> Push dagger - Dagger designed to have no practical purpose other than stabbing someone. Outlawed in several countries in our world
> 
> Jinchū - Punishment from humans - Kenshin reference :)

January 1, 2017 (11 Months Post Black Friday)

“Happy New Year!”

“Kanpaaaai!”

“Not so loud…” Ren whimpered, clutching his temples. His head was  _ killing _ him. The pain came in waves; his HUD and Persona were entirely unresponsive. He could barely believe that this was considered a normal part of being paired with an AI - by comparison, the surgery he had undergone to have the oculo-neural implant (ONi) felt like a gentle massage.

“Oh, seriously, Miyaya? How are you hungover  _ already _ ? We haven’t even started drinking yet!” Kasumi grinned, nudging the former specialist.

“Not hungover. Acclimation. Still too loud.” Ren buried his face into a pillow. The five of them - Ren, Kasumi, Makoto, Suzuki, and Mishima were gathered in a corner of the JTF-99’s barracks, celebrating the New Year. Or at least, four of them were. Ren was quietly groaning into the thin pillow of his bunk.

Mishima frowned. “Really? You just got out of the stockade on the 27th, so they wouldn’t have operated on you until the 29th, at the earliest. No one gets Acclimation Syndrome that quickly.”

Kasumi grinned. “Must be that Miyaya has a weaker constitution than we thought. Beer might help, buddy!” She popped the tab of a can right beside Ren’s ear.

He cried out in protest, swatting at Kasumi. He was good friends with the former SRT operator and generally appreciated her cheerfulness, but his head hurt too much. Even for beer.

She persisted. “Come  _ on _ , Miyaya! We’ve barely seen you since you got out of the klink! Don’t tell me this is how you want to ring in our first New Year as JTF agents!”

Makoto took the beer from Kasumi, shaking her head. “Give him a bit, Kasumi. Eventually the headache will abate a little. It comes in waves, remember? Though, it’s a little unheard of for someone to have it this bad only a few days after having their Persona assigned... Maybe we should take you to see Isshiki-sensei? She might be able to do something.”

Ren slowly sat up, wincing. He squinted; the lights in the barracks felt too bright. He didn’t really want to see Wakaba Isshiki - the woman always looked like she was thinking about dissecting him. “...It’s fading off, for now. Ah, man. Lavenza and I were getting along pretty well, too.”

“Lavenza?” Makoto asked.

“He named his AI.” Mishima shook his head. “They’re going to Section 8 you if words gets around, ‘Miya.”

“Never happen, Yukkun. The implant they shoved in our skulls makes us all too expensive to have us sitting around in a padded room. Besides. Are you guys really comfortable just treating an actual AI like a tool? When the machines take over, I want to be on their good side.” Ren said, smiling wryly.

“Heh. True.”

Kasumi laughed, poking at Ren. “So you’re back to doing things like naming a computer program and calling your bestie ‘Yukkun’ again, huh? What’s this I hear about taking over your squad and saying ‘Mishima’ this, ‘Mishima’ that? And threatening Suzuki over there, calling him ‘Private’? Did your sudden pro attitude have something to do with trying to impress a beautiful blonde girl…? You know, some people are calling her the ‘Angel of Tokyo Bay’?”

Ren shrugged nonchalantly, though he couldn’t say that the nurse’s presence didn’t affect him at the time. “Got us out alive, didn’t I?”

“And  _ you _ thrown in jail, Ren.” Suzuki said, shaking his head. He sighed. “...Hey. After sarge died, I was out of line, man. I--”

“Water under the bridge, Taka.” Ren smiled, reaching over to tap the other man’s shoulder. “We were all doing the best we could. And now that we’re in JTF, we have a chance to do even better.”

Kasumi nodded. “Yep! We’ll kick those gangs and warlords to the curb, and be back in a safe and clean Tokyo by this time next year! That’s what I wish for.”

Makoto smiled. “Is that what we’re doing? New Year’s wishes? Then, I hope that by this time next year, I’ll be back to my work with the SAT. In a clean and safe Tokyo.”

Suzuki paused. He bumped Ren’s fist in gratitude for his forgiveness. He then smiled over at Kasumi and Makoto, nodding. “I’m with Makoto and Yoshizawa. I just want to be back in a  _ normal _ Tokyo. Ren?”

Ren glanced at Suzuki and Kasumi. He smirked. “I hope that by this time next year, Kasumi and Taka will actually be able to say each others’ given names without blushing.”

“Dude!” Taka snapped. “You told me you wouldn’t say anything!”

“W-w-what?!”

Ren shrugged. “Just calling it like it is. You’ve got a long way to go, though. You didn’t even try, and you’re already blushing, right now. Yukkun? What about you?”

Mishima looked thoughtful. He smiled, after a moment. “The same thing. Home. I want my family to be able to go home to a safe city free of the Green Poison. And I want to make it happen with all of you guys.”

“That sounds like a toast.” Ren grinned. He reached for a beer. “Better make good on it before Lavenza acts up again, guys. Kanpai!”

“Kanpai!”

>>>

April 2, 2017

The dream of New Year’s wishes faded as Ren slowly opened his eyes.

_ ‘Where the hell am I…?’ _

He was cold. Wet. The sand under his face was an uncomfortably gritty pillow. The gear on his back felt heavy, pushing him down into the beach. His palms sank into the wet ground as the surf lapped at his boots. He coughed, spitting out sand and salt. He wiped the grit off his face.

_ ‘That’s right. We were being inserted into Tokyo. The chopper took us around Chiba, and then headed over Tokyo Bay. We were shot down…’ _

“...Lavenza… status?” Ren said, still on his hands and knees.

His smartwatch pulsed orange for a moment; the glowing ring shifted to crimson.

“...Network connection to Mementos lost. Based on GPS data and the surroundings, you are currently in Wakasu Seaside Park, Agent.”

Ren ignored the map that Lavenza helpfully displayed in the corner of his AR HUD. “Connection  _ lost _ ? How is that possible? I thought you were supposed to be perpetually connected?”

“...Data not available.” To Ren’s ears, the voice from his smartwatch seemed to sound almost  _ worried _ .

“Do you know what happened to the others?”

“Data not available… … …” His watch pulsed, and then pinged quietly. “Correction. Short-range transponder detected. Hardware assigned to Agent Yuuki Mishima detected in Shinkawa, Chuo City.”

The map in the corner of his vision shifted, showing the location of the ping and an efficient route towards the locale.

“Investigation and R/R advised.”

“Roger. Thanks, Lavenza.” Ren replied. R/R meant ‘rescue or recovery’. He hoped it would be the former.

“You’re welcome, Agent.”

Ren pushed himself to his feet, standing slowly. He unslung his rifle from his back, glancing over the weapon. It would work for now, but he needed to clean out the salt water from--

With a sudden grimace and strangled scream, he fell back to his knees, clutching his temples. The world spun. He fell to his hands, retching, nausea and disorientation overtaking him. His stomach was empty, but the taste of bile made him spit and cough violently towards the wet sand.

“Warning. ON-i unit failure detected. Depolarized circuitry is adversely affecting your proprioception and vestibular system. Combat readiness severely curtailed. Diffuse axonal injury detected. Medical attention required. Proceed to shelter, deploy distress beacon, and await extraction.”

The map, now glitching and blurring in and out of focus, now showed a route to a nearby abandoned golf and country club at Wakasu Golf Links.

He forced himself to stand. With nearly every step he took, he wanted to vomit.

“Lavenza… route to Shinkawa.”

Another long pause; his smartwatch pulsed for a few moments.

“...Agent, your ON-i malfunction is severe. Continued usage may lead to progression of diffuse axonal injury. You require medical attention. Please proceed to Wakasu Golf Links, deploy distress beacon, and await extraction--”

Ren shook his head, forcing himself forwards. “I’m  _ not _ leaving him! Shinkawa, Lavenza!”

“...Acknowledged. Routing to Shinkawa. I have noted probable safe areas to rest every 100 metres.”

Ren managed to find a piece of driftwood to act as a cane or crutch; he slung his rifle to his back again, instead drawing his H&K USP pistol. It was a no-brainer for him. As incapacitated as he was, he couldn’t abandon his friend.

>>>

_ ‘Because it was the right thing to do.’ The boy - Amamiya - stared up at him from the floor below the bench. The cynicism and anger on the youth’s face vanished, replaced by defiance and unbroken pride. For an uncomfortable moment, under the teen’s steely gaze, Yoshida felt like  _ **_he_ ** _ was the one on trial. _

It wasn’t an odd time to reminisce, Yoshida supposed. After all, there was a possibility that he’d never see Ren Amamiya again. Not after sending him and thirty-nine of his colleagues back to Honshu.

Yoshida sighed, standing at the window of his office. He stared off into the night, towards the southern sky where the five helicopters had disappeared into the distance. It was only half an hour after he had signed off on Directive 99. There wouldn’t be anything to do or any updates to receive until the insertion of the operatives was complete. It would likely be hours until any of the ‘First Wave’ - the first forty agents inserted into Tokyo - would even bother contacting Mementos with status updates. And even when they did, there still wouldn’t be much for them to do in Hokkaido, other than try to ready their troops for an eventual  _ en masse _ return to ‘beachheads’ established by the First Wave.

But the former judge and current Prime Minister couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t sleep. It didn’t seem right to lie asleep in his comfortable bed while some of the best and brightest soldiers that were left in the Imperial Army were being sent into a city that most likely would not see them as the saviors they were meant to be. His words to the agents had sounded so certain, so bold.

_ ‘You are Nine-Nine because it is your duty to take back our home,  _ **_whatever the cost_ ** _.’ _

Easy words to say. But what would that cost mean, in a lawless Tokyo? What kind of war would these agents have to wage in a place where they would be treated with suspicion at best, like beasts to be hunted down at worst? The CPP had no qualms. They considered the mission an acceptable risk - with flagging morale and not enough soldiers for a conventional war, JTF-99 was the best option to establish a ‘beachhead’. It would be a crucial symbolic victory, to show the refugees in Hokkaido that the government of Japan still existed, was still fighting to take back their homes.

As for the survivors left behind in Tokyo, the CPP considered anyone who  _ didn’t _ welcome them back as traitors who deserved death. But the agents couldn’t rationalize so easily. They weren’t blind fanatics to the party line. They couldn’t be, with the kind of mission they were being sent on. They had to make allies. They had to convince survivors to return to the side of the government that abandoned them.

The Nine-Nine were recruited with several things in mind - practical skills, survival instinct, adaptability, and resilience, of course. But above all,  _ loyalty _ . A commitment not to the  _ government  _ of Japan, but to the  _ people  _ of Japan. They were young, intelligent, and dedicated soldiers from all walks of life. Individuals who stuck out from the rank-and-file, either for their achievements or their steadfast adherence to their ideals - even if it was seen as ‘pathologic insubordination’ in some cases. They were all admirable people who should have been in line to inherit this country.

And yet, Yoshida had sent them forward to an urban hell, where if they didn’t die, they would surely come back haunted by the things they would have to do to.

_ ‘And so, as a Japanese citizen, I thank you. And also as a Japanese citizen, I  _ **_forgive you_ ** _. Godspeed.’ _

But would they forgive  _ him… _ ?

He turned as the door to his office opened.

“Major Niijima? We have a status update already? How is that possible…” He trailed off, noticing the tense set of her shoulders.

“Sir. Mementos has lost contact with the First Wave. We can’t pick up a signal from any of their Personas.”

“What?!” Yoshida’s eyes widened, he leaned on his desk as his it felt like the strength was going to leave his legs. “A network glitch? An error of some kind…?”

“No, sir… just… just prior to the signal loss, there were multiple maydays from the helicopters. All five were shot down.”

She paused, shaking her head.

“We… we’ve lost every single one. The First Wave is gone.”

>>>

April 3, 2017

Ren staggered down a street in Eitai, just across Sumida River from Shinkawa - the location of  _ one _ of the signals that could indicate Mishima’s position. A few hours ago, the original signal had split to two locations, with one remaining in Shinkawa, the other heading southwest.

_ ‘La...Lavenza. Where is he, now? What does that mean?’ Ren asked, forcing the words. _

_ The ring of light around the face of his watch, still red rather than orange, pulsed. ‘Uncertain. A transponder was attached to each JTF agent’s ON-i, smartwatch, and M-tech equipment. It is possible that Agent Mishima has deployed his M-tech and left it behind to cover his retreat. It is also possible that Agent Mishima has been killed or incapacitated, and his equipment stolen.’ _

He had to move faster. But the occasional stumble and wave of nausea was becoming a constant onslaught; he was spending more time resting and trying not to vomit than he was moving through the thankfully abandoned streets. His AR HUD had long since stopped working - any attempt to use the features of his ON-i just made the nausea worse. Only the verbal directions of Lavenza, housed within his smartwatch, kept him on track. He stumbled again, falling to his knees outside the smashed storefront of a convenience store.

“Agent Amamiya. I strongly suggest that you seek out shelter, deploy your distress beacon, and await extraction. Your axonal injury has progressed.”

“Damn… it…” Ren mumbled.

The crunch of a boot on broken glass inside the shop made him spin, bringing his pistol to bear.

The sudden movement was too much - his head swam; his vision spun and doubled. He tried to pull the trigger, to ward off the potential attackers with wild suppressing fire. But, his hand wouldn’t respond anymore. His pistol clattered to the pavement.

Two elderly survivors: A man and a woman. The man carried a rifle of some kind on his back; the woman held shopping bags full of scavenged items. They each regarded Ren with a look of surprise.

_ ‘Scavengers? Will they help me…? Kill me…?’ _

“Oh, my! You poor thing. Kaito-san, let’s get him home, quickly.” The woman gasped.

The man handed his weapon to his wife.

Finally, a break.

“Th… thank you.” Ren managed to say, as the elderly man helped him to his feet.

“Oh, no, my boy.” He smiled at Ren. The man had a bruise around his eyes; the bridge of his recently broken nose was bent asymmetrically.

Ren’s eyes widened as the woman aimed the rifle at him. The weapon looked out of place in the broken down shop. It was sleek, with a strange bullpup design. Austrian make.

It was Yuuki Mishima’s Steyr AUG.

The man’s smile widened, reminding Ren of the expression of a shark. His eyes gleamed with avarice.

“Thank  _ you _ .”

>>>

April 4, 2017

Under normal circumstances, the walk from Shinkawa to Aoyama was around an hour and a half. These were far from normal circumstances, of course. The streets were lined with destroyed cars, ruined police barriers, and wrecked storefronts dating back to the riots that had consumed the city. Newer detritus from the recent storm also lined the streets; rubble and garbage disturbed by the typhoon, along with recently collapsed traffic lights and street lamps. Moving through the streets was perilous - a single misstep could lead to a quick end, crushed under wreckage, or possibly a much slower death by small wounds and infections that would have been considered minor, had there been medicine and first aid readily available.

Spent shell casings and bloodstains of varying ages hinted at other, much less theoretical dangers.

So, it took the better part of a day for Ann and Shiho to reach Aoyama as they picked their way through the wreckage and carefully avoided dangerous ruins and roving gangs of scavengers, who at best would ignore them, and at worst would happily run down two young women to have a little ‘fun’.

Shiho and Ann paused a safe distance away from the gates to the rumoured settlement. They both crouched behind an overturned car, peering at the sign mounted on the stone wall surrounding the school.

“Shujin Academy…?”

Shiho frowned. The name tickled her memory. She blinked, socking her fist into her palm.

“Right! I almost went to this school!” Shiho said, nodding. “They supposedly had a really good volleyball team before the Dollar Flu. Tamagawa had a better escalator program and a halfway decent volleyball program though, so that’s why I ended up there with you. I remember thinking the name of this place was spot on… At tournaments, their volleyball team never looked very happy, even if they won most of the time. We always joked that it was the prison team…”

Ann looked over the school’s gate and fences, which had been patched up and reinforced in several places. There was even a makeshift watchtower beside the main gate, with a guard posted. The whole place looked quite secure, but almost forbidding.

“Doesn’t seem very funny  _ now _ , Shiho.” Ann murmured.

“Tell me about it…” Shiho shook her head, picking up her baseball bat. “Keep that rusty gun that your crush gave you handy, Blondie. It’s not incredibly convincing, but it’ll buy us a few minutes to run if we have to.”

“Not my crush. Don’t even know what he looks like.” Ann replied automatically. Still, she held the rifle closely, trying to imitate the practised ease that she had seen the unnamed soldier display.

Ann hoped that the rifle made her look at least a  _ little  _ intimidating. Her ripped jeans, hiking boots, black jacket, and backpack certainly didn’t. Nor did the ‘Unstoppable!’ hoodie that Shiho wore, with a T-Rex dual-wielding those toy robot hands at the end of metre long sticks.

As they approached the gate, the guard - a bearded man holding a rifle - leveled the weapon at the two.

“We’ve got newcomers!” He called, presumably to people inside the gates. He glared down at the two girls - in particular, Ann. “State your business! Lower your rifle!”

“We’re here to trade! We heard this was a safe haven!” Ann called back, not lowering her gun. “If that’s true, you lower  _ yours _ , first!”

“Not much of a safe haven if we allow armed intruders in! Especially ones that look like you!” He shouted back. He kept his weapon trained on her.

Well, at least he wasn’t leering at her. That was actually a little better than the average, where she’d be threatened by someone who was simultaneously undressing her with his eyes.

Ann didn’t budge. She kept her rifle aimed at the man. She could see the barrel of his rifle start to waver. He was going to back down. All she had to do was hold fast, wait, and watch.

...Watch, as the rusted magazine well of her Type 89 finally gave way, and the clip clattered to the pavement at Ann’s feet. There was an awkward silence as they stared each other down. Ann felt the heat of embarrassment rush to her face.

Shockingly, the guard lowered his weapon, laughing. “Approaching a fortified settlement with a rifle and a baseball bat? You two  _ definitely _ aren’t looking for trouble. Hey! Shimizu! Open the gates! Welcome to Shujin, ladies.”

Ann reversed the grip on her rifle to use it as a club if needed. She glanced at Shiho, who still held her bat threateningly as the gates swung open.

They were greeted by a woman in dark blue dress pants and button down blouse; her hair was up in a professional ponytail and her face was framed by a pair of rimless glasses.

“Hello! Sorry about the rude greeting. I’m Yoshimi Shimizu. I used to be one of the teachers here. Please, come in, come in!”

Ann and Shiho moved in cautiously. The front courtyard of the school, and from what they could see, the first floor as well, had been converted into something like a market area and vegetable garden. There was a fair amount of activity; the people present were all busy, affording the new arrivals only a quick glance before they returned to bartering, gardening, or the other myriad chores in running the settlement.

The bearded man climbed down from the tower, giving the girls a kind smile. “Sorry about that, ladies. I’m Ryuhei Kuronaga. We know most of the people that come through here, and they’ve usually come and gone by this time of the day. Right now, the only strangers we have here are you two and Kanai-san over there.”

He indicated another young woman, haggling for a pair of boots.

Shimizu nodded. “You’re welcome to shop around. Please just keep yourselves to the first floor of the school, though. The second and third floor are personal quarters and storage for our settlement.”

Kuronaga frowned, glancing at his wristwatch. As he turned his wrist, the screen of the smartwatch flicked on; it displayed the time on the circular black face, which had a glowing crimson ring around it. It was surprising to Ann - a functioning smartwatch was rare these days. The lack of functioning cellular networks coupled with the failing power grid simply made them an unnecessary luxury. The guard looked back at Ann and Shiho.

“It’s actually getting into the evening… you two might want to consider just staying here for the night. Shujin is safe, but we can’t make any guarantees about Aoyama in general.

Shimizu blinked, looking at Kuronaga with surprise. She then brightened, smiling at Ann and Shiho. “Of course! How thoughtless of me, thinking two young women should just do their business and then disappear into the night with all those gangs wandering around. Please, stay! You might even consider moving here permanently, if you like it!”

Ann and Shiho exchanged glances; they took a step back to confer quietly.

“What do you think, Ann?”

“They seem nice enough? And he’s right. It’s getting dark out, and it was already dangerous enough getting here from Shinkawa. Maybe just until the morning?”

Shiho nodded. “I agree. Let’s make sure we stick together, though.”

The two turned back to Shimizu.

“Thank you, Shimizu-san. We’ll accept the offer to stay until the morning.” Shiho said. “I can’t say we’ll stay on permanently, but shelter for the night would be great.”

“Ah! Good! In that case, you should meet the leader of our little community.”

Ann cocked her head curiously. “It isn’t you?”

“Oh, no.” Shimizu laughed. “Our leader is Suguru Kamoshida.”

>>>

April 5, 2017

It was late. The lights were off in the spare classroom that Ann and Shiho had been given on the first floor of the school to spend the night. Although Shujin had both solar power and fuel-based generators, there was a strict ‘lights off’ rule past a certain hour to conserve resources. Ann slept soundly, curled up beside Shiho on the futon that Shimizu lent them. The black-haired girl couldn’t quite get to sleep, though - the meeting with the ‘community leader’ at Shujin bit at her mind like a gnat, rousing her back to wakefulness each time she started to drift off.

_ ‘Hello, welcome to Shujin!’ He said, spreading his arms in a magnanimous gesture to welcome the three girls - Ann and Shiho, as well as the other visitor, Mitsuko Kanai. A pleasant smile split his square jaw. ‘I’m Suguru Kamoshida. I was the principal here at Shujin.’ _

_ ‘...principal? Weren’t you the volleyball coach?’ _

_ A brief pause. His smile remained steady. _

_ ‘Ah. Are you a former student?’ _

_ ‘No. I went to Tamagawa a few years back. We competed against Shujin a few times.’ _

_ ‘Oh, I see.’ A slight nod. ‘I was promoted after Principal Kobayakawa left.’ _

Shiho had a disturbing feeling that if she had been a former student, the answer might have been different. Apparently, Kamoshida was the principal when the riots started; the students had already been sent home weeks prior, but he had the idea of fortifying Shujin in the event students and their families were unable to reach Tokyo Bay. It explained why people in the settlement seemed so grateful to the man. But there was something else. The people here treated him with a reverence that seemed to go beyond gratitude. The way people approached him; the way they deferred to him. The way they called him  _ sensei _ seemed less like the way you’d refer to a teacher, and more like how you’d refer to a priest.

Or a cult leader.

Shiho sat up, shaking her head. She glanced over at Ann as the blonde girl mumbled in her sleep. Ann had agreed, thankfully.

_ ‘Shiho… let’s leave tomorrow morning. Early. Then let’s forget this place exists.’ _

Ann was right, of course. It wasn’t worth perseverating on what was happening under the surface at Shujin.

Shiho carefully got up, mindful to not wake Ann up.

_ ‘I’ll just get a drink of water and try to get to sleep…’ _

She exited the class, heading for the bathroom. 

The hallways were dark; it seemed that everyone living in the settlement occupied the second and third floor during the night. Her steps echoed down the empty corridor. The ravenette clutched her elbows as she walked. She had the same feeling she had when she was traversing a dark alley; the same feeling she had when she was a little girl, walking up the stairs from her parents’ basement.

A sense that something dogged her heels, remaining in perfectly lockstep with her. A dread feeling that if she ran, it too would run.

She reached the bathroom with a sigh. The hallway on either side of her was empty.

_ ‘Silly of me. Of course there isn’t anything. We just need to wait until the morning, and then get out of here--’ _

Quiet sobbing stopped Shiho mid-thought. For a fleeting, irrational moment, she wondered if Shujin was haunted - until she stepped into the bathroom, seeing someone curled up in a fetal position in the corner. After a moment, Shiho recognized Mitsuko Kanai. The girl’s black hair was disheveled, her green eyes were distant, unfocused. The girl was stark naked, save for pads stuck to her skin that Shiho recognized as ECG electrodes. While Shiho wasn’t a nurse like Ann, she’d seen her friend study enough that she knew the leads were placed in entirely the wrong places.

“Please… please… I don’t want to… I don’t…”

“Kanai-san!?” Shiho unzipped her hoody, wrapping it around the girl.

She barely took notice of Shiho. She just trembled, shaking her head. She continued to sob softly.

“I didn’t want to. I didn’t. But it hurt so much, and Kamoshida said if I begged him to… ...to… do  _ things _ to me, the pain would stop. So I did… I did, and he…”

Shiho looked at the bruises on the girl’s thighs; the scrapes on her knees. Her state of undress. She felt sick to her stomach as she realized what Kamoshida had done to Mitsuko.

“He… he said I finally revealed my ‘true nature’... I got away before he could let the other men…”

“Enough. That’s enough.” Shiho said, holding the girl tightly. “We’re getting out of here. Not tomorrow morning, right  _ now.” _

She hauled Mitsuko to her feet; the girl numbly allowed Shiho to haul her to the door.

“We just need to get Ann, and—“

She ran almost headlong into Kuronaga, the friendly guard at the tower.

His smile was no longer very friendly. He laughed softly, pointing his rifle at the two women. Mitsuko started to sob again.

“Ah. So you found our frightened little rabbit, Suzui- _ chan _ . Looks like you’ll get to join the fun ahead of schedule…”

April 6, 2017

Ann was frantic. She had woken up alone - Shiho had vanished.

The residents of the settlement showed only benign disinterest or mild concern at Ann’s increasingly panicked inquiries, offering bland, improbable answers.

_ ‘Oh. Maybe she went scavenging for more things to barter with without you? I’m sure she’ll be back.’  _ Shiho wouldn’t have left without her supplies, and certainly not without her trusty baseball bat.

_ ‘Maybe she’s around the settlement somewhere? Shujin isn’t a small school, you know.’ _ They weren’t allowed on the second floor - the guards, who seemed more numerous today, barred her from searching upstairs. They certainly would have stopped Shiho, too.

_ ‘Maybe you two aren’t as close as you thought.’ _ That one didn’t even dignify a second of consideration.

Her friend was missing, and the behavior of the community was getting more and more disturbing. Ann felt eyes on her at all times, now. People performed their chores with  _ extra _ care when she came by; conversations were astoundingly dull as she drew near (how could so many people be chatting about the weather?). They were hiding something, and the only thing Ann had that was remotely threatening was a rusty rifle that didn’t even make a very good club.

Ann searched over the school grounds repeatedly, her voice hoarse from calling Shiho’s name.

As the sun began to set, Ann stood partially hidden by the shadows cast by Shujin’s gate. She watched the guards at the stairs leading to the second and third floors, wondering how far she’d get if she charged past them. If the guards actually had the will to turn their guns on her, not far. But if they hesitated, she’d have a chance. Shiho had to be upstairs.

Ann tensed; the gate to Shujin was at her back. There was nothing physically stopping her from just turning and leaving.

Nothing  _ physical _ . She wouldn’t abandon the girl who was a sister to her.

She started walking slowly towards the stairs. She wouldn’t start running until the guards noticed her.

Halfway to the stairs, one of them started to turn towards the blonde.

Ann prepared to run - until Yoshimi Shimizu caught her elbow, pulling her aside.

“Takamaki-san! I think I know where Suzui-san went. Come with me!”

Ann blinked - Shimizu had been one of the people who had given Ann bland, non-committal answers.

The woman drew her arm around Ann’s shoulders. Her urgent, worried whisper belied the pleasant smile she cast at the guards, who just nodded to the former teacher.

“There’s something terrible happening at Shujin, Takamaki-san. I’ll take you to Suzui-san, but then you two need to get out of here as quickly as you can, and find help.”

Ann fought to keep her expression under control. She nodded quickly.

Shimizu led Ann to the back of the school - quietly, she unlocked an emergency door, revealing a back stairwell. “This way! I saw her on the second floor, in the faculty office.”

The second floor was utterly quiet and poorly lit; the windows all had blinds drawn, preventing the last rays of the setting sun from reaching inside. It raised Ann’s hackles - and she raised her rifle, prepared to swing it at anything that moved. Shimizu opened the door to the faculty office, looking anxiously down the hallway. 

“Hurry! Someone could come at any minute!”

Ann stepped inside - the faculty office was dark, the windows blacked out. In the dim light, the blonde could just make out the  _ lack _ of furniture - the desks and cubicles that should have made up the office were gone. As she strained her ears, she  _ thought _ she heard the soft sounds of breathing--

Shimizu turned the lights on.

Shiho was in the middle of the room. Her shirt had been torn open - ECG electrodes had been stuck to her chest, around her bra. She hung from bound wrists, her toes barely touching the floor under her. Her mouth was gagged. Cuts and bruises adorned her face, body, and hands. It was clear to Ann that her friend had fought her captors with every fiber of her being. She breathed heavily through the gag - she was unconscious. The ECG leads were placed on Shiho’s body in a seemingly nonsensical pattern - until Ann’s eyes followed the wires to a crude power supply. This was a torture device, not a diagnosic tool.

“SHIHO!”

Her brown eyes snapped open at Ann’s voice. She started to yell and scream into the gag, thrashing wildly.

Ann ran to her friend’s side, quickly untying the gag and her wrists. “Shiho! Shiho, what happened!? We need to go, we--”

“Get away from us, you  _ bitch _ !” Shiho screamed at Shimizu, leaning on Ann. “I swear to God, I’m going to  _ fuck you up _ for what you’ve done to those girls! To me!”

“Shiho…? What… She led me to you…” Ann mumbled, as she started to understand.

Shimizu smiled.

“You can swear to God all you want, Suzui-san. He’s right here.”

Suguru Kamoshida strode into the office, flanked by Kuronaga and another guard. Shimizu fawned over him, pressing her self into his side suggestively.

“Did I do well, Kamoshida-sama?”

The ‘principal’ fondled the ‘teacher’ with a disturbing casualness. “You did, Shimizu-san. You’ll be rewarded with my  _ blessing  _ tonight.”

“Oh, thank you, Kamoshida-sama!”

“No, thank  _ you _ .” Kamoshida leered at Ann and Shiho. “For bringing two more lost lambs into the fold. I will do my best to show them their  _ true nature _ , and their rightful place in my world.”

>>>

“NNnnggggaaah!... You mother _ fucker! _ ” Shiho screamed, her body convulsing as the electrodes delivered another charge into her body.

Ann yelled as well, her back arching as a corresponding shock was delivered into her. She spat to try to clear the metallic taste from her mouth and to show her disgust at the man leering at the two women. Ann and Shiho had been moved to his ‘private quarters’. It was a repurposed third floor classroom overlooking the gymnasium through a hole that had been knocked into the wall. Kamoshida had waxed poetic on ‘his world’ while Shimizu and several armed guards bound and suspended them by their wrists.

_ ‘ _ **_I_ ** _ built this castle.  _ **_I_ ** _ am the king over all who take shelter here. Everyone under my rule has security within these walls. The men follow my orders, work hard, and are rewarded. The women… they learn their place. You’re all the same, anyway - just whores waiting to be used by the strongest man around. You’ll eventually serve me and mine. Just admit your true nature, give your lord his right of the first night, and you can have freedom in servitude… Serving me, and any of my men who I’ve deemed worthy.’ _

Ann glowered at Kamoshida - the man lounged on a gaudy, over-large mattress that looked like it had been hauled in from a love hotel. He was naked under the robe he wore - earlier, in yet another disgusting display of his ‘power’, the man had ‘blessed’ a willing Shimizu right in front of his two new captives before sending her down to the gymnasium to act as a plaything for his followers. He raised an eyebrow, idly playing with the switch that controlled the leads that trailed from the chugging generator and to the electrodes visible through Ann and Shiho’s torn clothes.

“What, then? Are you ready? You know the rules. The pain stops the moment you say the words.  _ ‘I belong to you, Kamoshida-sama. Please fuck me. _ ’”

Ann worked her jaw slowly; it felt like her teeth were still tingling.

“It’s incredible…”

Kamoshida leaned forward eagerly, seeming to anticipate Ann’s capitulation.

“...it’s incredible, that for all your flowery language, all your grandiose posturing, you’re nothing but some deviant serial rapist living out some harem fantasy. Pathetic piece of shit. You can’t even get it up unless someone tells you that they want you.”

Shiho laughed derisively. “Yeah… the fuck happened to you, to make you like this? Walk in on your mommy fucking her boyfriend on the side when daddy was away? Bet  _ she’s _ the one you want to beg you for sex, you Oedipal fuck—Aaaauuaaahh!”

Shiho and Ann screamed as Kamoshida thumbed the switch. He was on his feet in an instant; he grabbed each girl by the hair, his eyes flashing.

“I should just force each one of you right now, right in front of the other. And then throw you down there to be used like you deserve!”

He forcibly wrenched their faces towards the gaping hole in the wall, the one facing the gymnasium- where his ‘worthy’ men partook in their ‘reward’ with previously captured women. It was horrible beyond comprehension; the worst was Shimizu, and a few others like her. They actually seemed to act like willing participants. A mix of post-apocalyptic trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, and torture, Ann realized.

Ann spat at Kamoshida. He backhanded her immediately.

“You’ll learn your place, slut. You’ll—“

There was a knock on the door. “Sir! Sorry to interrupt.  _ Traders _ at the gate. The Oda couple.”

Kuronaga poked his head in the room.

Ann shivered, feeling the man’s eyes cross the skin exposed by her torn shirt. She didn’t miss the man’s emphasis on the word ‘trader’, though. This was more than bartering for supplies.

“Oh? And did they bring us anything interesting?”

“Yes, sir.” Kuronaga tapped his strange smartwatch. “Another one. This one seems more able to talk… might be able to get more out of the other, too, once he learns we have one of his friends.”

“Fine, then. Pay them and have the new captive sent up here—“

“They’re asking for double, sir. They refuse to negotiate with anyone but yourself.”

Kamoshida sighed. He glanced at the wall clock. “I suppose it’s time for my evening rounds, anyway. Excuse me, ladies. A good king is a vigilant one, after all. Kuronaga. Keep them company. Feel free to continue helping them come to terms with their  _ true _ selves, though if they’re ready to confess, come find me…”

Kamoshida handed him the remote and left the office.

Ann and Shiho glanced at each other uncertainly as Kuronaga glanced at the remote, putting it aside.

Ann felt hope, briefly.

That hope vanished when the bearded guard started undoing his belt.

“W-wait!” Ann stammered, starting to fight against her bonds. “Isn’t that against your rules?! Isn’t Kamoshida your ‘king’, or ‘lord’, or some other fucked up shit?!”

Kuronaga scoffed. “Even the boss doesn’t buy half the shit he says. Most of us follow him because it’s safe here, the food’s decent, and there’s always someone available to fuck. You’re not wrong, though. He has to be the first to use any new pussy we get around here.”

“Then what are you doing?!” Shiho screamed, ineffectually kicking at the man as he unhooked Ann’s bound wrists from the hook dangling from the ceiling. “Leave her alone!”

He savagely shoved Ann to her knees. “No rules against using your mouth, bitch. I’ve been wanting to play around with you the moment I saw you strut up to the gate. Fucking Americans… they screw up Japan, and then they unleash the plague. It’s only right I punish a gaijin slut by making her suck my dick.”

“Anything you put in my mouth, you’ll lose.” Ann snarled.

“Not likely.” He drew his pistol and pointed it at Shiho. “You blow me, and you act like you  _ like _ it, or your friend dies.”

“Ann!  _ Don’t.” _

There was another knock on the door. Someone was shoved inside, landing bonelessly on the floor. “The boss negotiated those greedy old assholes down pretty well. This one’s in better shape, but he’s just as uncoordinated and fucked in the head as— the fuck are you doing, man? You know the rules.”

“Get the fuck out of here and close the door!”

“But—“

“GET. OUT.” Kuronaga screamed, brandishing his pistol.

“Jesus! Fine! Don’t blame me if Kamoshida castrates you, man.”

The door closed; the other guard left the new captive face down on the office floor, his hands bound behind him.

Muttering, Kuronaga grabbed the newcomer by his hair, lifting his face up. “Nothing to say? Just as useless as your buddy?”

“..Ren… ...Miya.” He slurred, retching once, as if trying to vomit. “A...gent. 1999110688..”

Ann blinked - the man’s voice was familiar. And something about his eyes...

“Tch. Name, rank, and serial number, huh?” Kuronaga roughly dropped him back to the floor before turning back to Ann. “Whatever.”

He unzipped his pants in front of Ann, grinning. She turned her face away in disgust.

“So what’s it going to be, slut? Your pride, or your friend’s brains blown across the wall?” He gestured back at the captive with his pistol, laughing. “Come on! This is like your big debut. Even got an audience, now—“

Ann launched herself to her feet, slamming the crown of her head into Kuronaga’s chin. Blood splattered on her face, and something fleshy plopped to the ground at her feet. Ann wasn’t so dazed by her flying headbutt that she didn’t recognize the front third of a human tongue.

“FUCK! Muh phthucking tungue! Bithch!” As blood poured from his mouth, he aimed his pistol at Ann.

She dove out of the way - but it was unnecessary.

Kuronaga’s smartwatch beeped - the glowing red ring around the black face grew intensely bright. A calm, robotic voice rang out from the device. “Local area connection established. Authorization code accepted. Countermeasures activated.”

Kuronaga  _ screeched  _ as the smartwatch whined loudly - with the smell of burning flesh and a loud, quick sizzle, his pistol thudded to the floor beside his tongue - joined immediately after by his right hand.

Ann watched in horrified fascination as the man clutched at the cauterized stump, gurgling in pain and shock. He fell to his knees, sobbing.

He didn’t have much time to bemoan his newfound left handed status. In a show of deft flexibility, the new captive moved his wrists from behind his back, tucking them under his buttocks and moving his hands past his feet so that his wrists were now bound in  _ front _ of him. His left wrist bore an identical smartwatch to the one lying on the floor beside Kuronaga’s severed hand.

In a flash, he was behind Kuronaga and had his neck between his bound wrists. The bearded man struggled and begged wordlessly, sensing the end.

“P...please! No!”

If the grey-eyed man heard him, he didn’t care. He jerked his arms hard to the side.

There was a sickening crunch as Kuronaga’s body went limp, his neck broken. The grey-eyed man let him drop to the floor.

Ann scrambled away, wide-eyed, from this stranger who killed without hesitation. She put herself between him and Shiho, trying to figure out how to untie herself and Shiho, and then get past this new person and out of the school.

Until she heard his voice.

“Are you two alright?”

_ ‘Specialist, miss. Never made sergeant.’ _

Ann looked at him in shock.

“Y...yeah. All things considered.”

“Ren Amamiya. I’m an agent sent by the government.” He said, pausing briefly to use his teeth to release the zip-tie holding his wrists together. He untied Ann and Shiho before quickly searching Kuronaga’s body, taking his pistol, the smartwatch, and a few other items he apparently felt were useful.

For a moment, Ann wasn’t sure if he really was the masked soldier - his voice was similar, but his eyes were so cold and dispassionate as he searched the dead body. He turned to the two women, seemingly about to say something. He averted his gaze quickly. The soldier handed Ann her jacket, which had been brought up with them, and also the coat Kuronaga had been wearing. Ann blinked, before understanding with a little gasp - she put her jacket on, covering up her partially-exposed torso. Shiho did the same with the scavenged coat.

“...I’m sorry that this happened to you two. I got here as quickly as I could.” That was the confirmation. The kindness in his grey eyes was exactly as she remembered; the polite, reassuring tone of his voice a salve. It was him. Her masked soldier.

_ ‘Let’s get aboard, Takamaki-san. There isn’t much time.’ _

“...Specialist?”

“Agent now, Takamaki-san.”

“You remember me…?”

Ren’s lips quirked slightly. “How could I forget ‘The Angel of Tokyo Bay’?”

Ren’s watch glowed. A feminine voice chimed in. It was similar to the other smartwatch, but there was something subtly different, too Ann’s ear. Something richer, more complex.

“I concur, Ren. It’s unlikely you would forget Takamaki-san, with the number of times you’ve viewed File 01-A--”

“ _ Thanks _ , Lavenza.”

“ _ You’re welcome _ , Ren.”

Shiho shook her head, staring blankly at Ren’s watch. “...Emotional undertones…  _ sarcasm _ …? That’s… that’s an AI. And it’s unshackled…”

“‘Her’, not ‘it’. This is Lavenza. Lavenza, this is Ann Takamaki. And…”

“Suzui. Shiho Suzui.”

“A pleasure.” Lavenza said, the watch pulsing. “Ren. I’ve parsed the data that Agent Mishima’s Persona has given me. I have his last known location, and now have access to his ON-i telemetry. He will require our assistance immediately.”

Ren nodded. “Let’s go.”

Ann shook her head. “Wait. Amamiya-san, we can’t just  _ leave _ . The other women…”

Ren moved to the open wall, looking down. A look of disgust crossed his face.

“...We can’t do anything for them right now, Takamaki-san. But I promise you - I’m coming back.”

>>>

Ren crept quietly down the hall of the third floor, heading to Mishima’s last known position. Thankfully, most of the third floor seemed to be reserved for Kamoshida’s private use: the floor was largely empty. To the credit of Ann and Shiho, the two women were actually fairly stealthy. A byproduct of being two, attractive young women in a city full of predators, Ren supposed. They couldn’t have survived this long without having good instincts. But their situation was precarious - they were two civilians in hostile territory.

And yet here he was, leading them on a detour through the jackal’s den, rather than extracting them immediately.

But for all he knew, Mishima was his only ally left in this godforsaken city. And his former squadmate was his friend - probably even his best friend. They had met during basic training, a few years ago. Two outcasts. Ren, for being a criminal. Mishima, for looking (and being) smart. It struck them both as funny that daring to hope for a more ‘white collar’ position in the engineering corps somehow gave Mishima the same undesirable status as Ren, someone who avoided conviction by enlisting. Their relationship became cemented further when they were assigned to be the other’s ‘battle buddy’, expected to watch each other’s back and monitor the other’s mental state.

“This is the room, Ren.” Lavenza said quietly, as the three humans crouched by the door to the classroom. “Two lifesigns. One guard, and one unknown presumed to be Agent Mishima.”

From his perspective, his restored AR HUD ‘pulsed’. A wave of red light washed over his view for a moment, highlighting two wire-frame shapes - a guard, leaning on the wall just inside the door, and a prisoner, suspended from the ceiling in the same manner that Shiho and Ann had been.

Ren reached down to his ankle, withdrawing the carefully concealed push dagger.

He waved Ann and Shiho back around the corner before pulling the sliding door open, standing just outside.

“About time. You’re late for your shift, Kuronaga. Thanks to you, I won’t have any time to get a turn with that new girl… ...Kuronaga--Urk!”

Ren buried the dagger in his throat as he clamped his hand over the man’s mouth, dragging him inside silently. He lowered the body to the ground, speaking quietly as he started to look up.

“Yukkun, thank God. We’re getting out of… ...here…”

“...H-hey… ‘Miya…” Mishima mumbled, looking weakly up at Ren. He had been badly beaten. A multitude of circular burns covered his arms. His fingernails were missing, and dried blood surrounded cuts on his wrists.

But worst of all were his legs. Splintered bone stuck out from both his shins. Blood dripped from the open fractures. Fragments of bone littered the ground beneath Mishima.

The bloodied hammers, pliers, and other tools spread out on the nearby table told the story of what had happened here.

Ren dropped his dagger. None of his training could have prepared him for this.

Nothing could have.

Ann stepped forward quickly, barking orders at Ren and Shiho. “Help me get him down! Quickly!”

Ren snapped back to focus. They carefully got Mishima down.

“Open fractures, both tibia… They cut the tendons in his wrists, too. Possibly the nerves.” Ann said, quickly surveying him. She placed a hand on his forehead. “He’s burning up. We need to find antibiotics, and we need to splint his legs if we’re going to have any hope of getting him out--”

“Th...thank you, Takamaki-san.” Mishima said, interrupting. “But… but I know I’m not getting out of here.”

Ren started to protest. “Yukkun, don’t be an idiot. I’ll get you out. I got you out of Tokyo Bay, remember? I’ll--”

“No, Ren…” Mishima coughed. “The… the mission. You have to survive. You have to carry on. You have to take this city back. You can’t get me out. Not the way I am now. You have to leave me.”

“We’re supposed to get it done together, Yukkun!” Ren said, shaking his head. “Together!”

Mishima looked over at Ann, smiling helplessly. “He’s… ...he’s pretty stubborn, Takamaki-san. Can… Can you look after him? At least for a little while?”

Ann nodded tightly.

Mishima turned back to Ren. He reached out, grasping his hand.

“I… I didn’t tell them a goddamned thing, ‘Miya. Not a single thing. No matter what they did...”

“I know. I know, Yukkun.” Ren spoke, his voice breaking.

Mishima nodded slowly. “...I won’t make it out of here, ‘Miya. But I… I don’t want them to hurt me anymore. So please… Please…”

His hand, trembling, placed Ren’s over his dropped dagger. He smiled faintly, reassuringly at his friend. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“...Please.”

Ren felt numb. Cold. There wasn’t a choice. Not really. That had been decided when Kamoshida and his men shattered his friend’s legs. When they cut the tendons in his wrists. When they made sure his wounds stayed open. Even if they somehow fought their way out, carrying him, he was already going septic. None of them had antibiotics, or even enough cloth to use as bandages.

All Ren had was his dagger.

He picked it up.

Mishima nodded. “D...don’t blame yourself, ‘Miya.”

Ren hugged his friend close. He screwed his eyes shut, listening to Mishima’s wavering voice.

“You’re… ….”

Mishima gasped lightly as the blade, razor sharp, slipped between his ribs, piercing his heart.

“...my best friend… my best… friend…”

Ren laid him gently to the floor. His eyes were already closed; his expression peaceful. It looked as if he was asleep.

Ren felt Ann start to touch his shoulder - he brushed her off, standing up. His voice sounded cold and alien to his own ears.

“We’re done here. Let’s move.”

As he slipped out the door, he silently amended his promise to Ann. He was going to come back - and he was going to make everyone responsible for this pay dearly.

>>>

April 2, 2017

_ ‘Wake up, agents! Ready for deployment!’ _

Major Sae Niijima, commanding officer of JTF-99, was the only individual in the battalion with an official rank beyond ‘agent’. The ultimate responsibility for selecting, training, and monitoring the Nine-Nine rested with her. She knew that the agents had no illusions about their role. They knew that while they were the first step to a critical symbolic victory for a government with flagging support, they also knew that they were ultimately expendable. They were being given incredible technology and leeway to ‘save what remains’ - at any cost. Even their own lives.

_ The agents emerged from their rooms, lining the hallway. They rubbed sleep from their eyes; most looked bored or irritated. Sae didn’t blame them - this was the sixth time in two weeks where they had been roused from bed. All the previous times had been ‘mock deployments’. She started barking out names in alphabetical order. _

_ ‘Amamiya. Chiaki. Fujihara…’ _

But even so, Sae felt responsible for their well-being. She was invested in the training of each of the hundred or so agents; each of the forty ‘First Wave’ agents she had just sent to Honshu to begin Operation  _ Jinchū _ , she knew on some level. Amamiya hid an ultimately kind heart under a snarky, flirty exterior. For all of Akechi’s pompous attitude, his professional pride was real - he got the job done, no matter what. And Makoto… Makoto was her sister. She knew and loved her, even if she did a lousy job of showing it.

Sae picked up the tablet sitting on her desk; it listed every agent that had been randomly selected by Mementos to be deployed on Jinchū. She then glanced at the readout on her computer. On the right side of the screen, it showed the transponders from each of the five JH-60 choppers, now nearing their insertion points on the island of Honshu. On the left, it showed each agents’ name, callsign, and profile picture, along with their status. The screen glowed a soft orange with the telemetry data being sent back.

_ ‘...Minami. Nagase…’ _

It had everything. Connection strength to Mementos, vital signs, even whether or not their M-Tech devices had been deployed.

_ ‘Mishima. Natsuki… Niiyama.’ _

It could, in effect, tell them the circumstances around each agent.

_ ‘Mishima. Natsuki… Niiyama.’ _

Simultaneously, every single name on the readout turned red. Connections lost.

_ ‘Mishima. Natsuki… Niiyama.’ _

Seconds later, each helicopter vanished off the radar, one by one. Shot down.

Sae put the tablet down, not a single hint of surprise on her weary face.

She stood slowly, straightening out her uniform.

“Mishima. Natsuki. Niiyama.” She said, this time out loud. She glanced down at the tablet to look one more time at who the list of forty agents had really included.

_ Mishima, Yuuki (Frost) _

_ Natsuki, Nanami (Seven) _

**_Niijima, Makoto (Queen)_ **

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, forcing the intermingled guilt and relief to the back of her mind.

With an expression etched in iron, she left to inform the Prime Minister of the loss of the First Wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This had many re-reads, re-writes, and questioning of whether or not I wanted to go this way.
> 
> Kamoshida is a sick fuck. He'll get what's coming to him.
> 
> Apologies to Mishima fans out there. I have nothing against him. I felt his canon self was a gentle person, thrust into a bad situation by Kamoshida. He didn't belong in this war, much like Nichol in Gundam SeeD - and this is why his death will affect Ren so profoundly.
> 
> More notes if I can think of them.
> 
> How did Kamoshida get this position of prominence? Will get into it later, but for those who 'gots to know' - remember, the world of 'Arma' is 18 months after the 'end of the world', in a way. People are fucked up. In these situations, scared/desperate people will listen to people who seem less scared/desperate. Those are often the brave, the skilled, the courageous.
> 
> But people who aren't scared/desperate are also often the crazy, the predatory, the complete psychopaths. Under normal circumstances, most wouldn't just go along with what Kamoshida is doing (I hope). But here he is - a big, tall dude who has this idea to fortify the school.
> 
> I think I need some mind bleach. Will probably go write some GtD:XR or Shuann Week prompts now.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Hiatus/Non-Story Announcement

Hi all,

A bit presumptuous of me to post something like this for a story that's barely 20k words and only 4 chapters long. But I've noticed an uptick in hits/kudos/comments lately, as well as a kind mention on reddit about this story. I feel like I owe it to the people who are reading/checking in on this to let you know where I'm at with Inter Arma.

I actually took a hiatus from writing this for a bit owing to the current state of the world. Even though Inter Arma technically takes place _post_ pandemic, introducing characters/storylines/etc would have involved writing either flashbacks or dialogue that expounds on what happened during the height of the epidemic and chaos. I don't feel entirely comfortable with writing about that kind of stuff right now when I can barely stand to read the news anymore. It was getting to the point where updates from various parts of our world were starting to resemble notes I had written for Inter Arma weeks ago.

I do hope to come back to this at some point - but for now, I'll be focusing on stories that are a little more fanciful/positive/don't hit so close to home.

Stay safe out there everyone. And thanks so much for reading this and my other stories.

-K


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